Of Men and Monsters
by Tynni
Summary: Canada collapses violently in the middle of a meeting. Two brothers are sent on a hunting trip. This may be bigger than they thought. Crap!Summary HetaliaxSupernatural
1. O' Canada

Canada slumped unceremoniously into his chair, gripping his bear tightly.

The northern nation ended up being earlier than he had wanted today. There was still a good half-hour before the majority of the personifications would begin to filter and a bit longer than that before the main event.

That seemed to be the best description of the frivolous meetings. A pageant of treaties and a revelry of threats.

He was surprised if anything was ever accomplished in these meetings. Then again, it wasn't as if he had much of a say in it in the end. That was meant in the most literal way as possible.

The soft spoken blonde was rarely acknowledged during the proceedings, often ignored or drowned out by his southern counterpart, that damnable yet lovable brother of his. Of course, he found this upsetting and often inefficient, but at the same time, he could occasionally see some benefit to this.

Today was one of those days.

Matthew had woken up less than sound. His head was pounding. Sudden movements made him woozy. The entirety of his being just summed up with one word…_blah_

After he managed to elegantly shake off the encumbrance of slumber {read: wrapped in the blankets breaking all proximate glassware, tearing the sheets, and injuring a cat. Receiving a nine for the landing, a perfect face plant replica of 89'} he had thoroughly checked his economy and international affairs, in which he found nothing out of sorts. There had been an election brewing, but those never made him feel off, actually, those usually gave him a burst of fresh energy due to the changes.

So he shrugged it off as a lingering effect of having eaten Britain's cooking over the weekend.

Sadly, it was an all too reasonable and likely possibility.

He really should have just stayed in bed, or better yet, followed Alfred's example and skipped out on the dinner. Though that would have probably brought on a headache of another kind. Anything having to do with following his twin's tactic always ended in three or four days of damage control…minimum.

Arthur was one for-

"-and where were you, twit?! I made dinner for all of us-"

"-AHAHAHA! The Hero won't be fooled by your poisons-"

"-Wanker! You declared pizza vegetable-"

"Hey! We agreed not to talk about that!"

Speak of the devil, and he will present himself in the form of a very pissed off British representation.

When would he learn to keep his thoughts to himself? Or from himself? Whatever…

Dragging his mind from the mental metaphysical conundrum, Matthew sighed and let his eyes wander towards the door where both his brother and father-figure walked in. His not being the only pair as the few other countries that littered the room waited for the show with ravenous gazes. Hopefully, this time would finally be different than their other petty little fights and there would be blood. Perchance a 'disappearance' of sorts? A bit of land without a personification to shake up decades of boredom wasn't too much to hope for was it?

Unfortunately for a giddy baby faced pipe wielding nation, this wish would go unfulfilled as the boisterous host nation quickly brushed off the offending Brit with nothing more than an extended laugh that boomed across the room while both nations quickly found their places.

Right beside Matthew.

A groan escaped him as his head increased the tempo to the cadence it had been playing all morning. The two nations beside him continued their petty arguing using slightly more hushed mutterings with him directly between him. Letting Kuma wriggle from his lap to the floor, Canada began to furiously rub his temples as he screwed his eyes shut, hoping to find some relief.

"-besides even Tony wouldn't- Yo, lil' bro? Whattcha doing?" His voice was grating to the nation.

"…..Practicing telekinesis, Al."

"Dude! That's so totally friggen cool! …Say! Can you make some Starbucks appear? I need my fix!"

Matthew's eyes rolled open as he glanced at his brother and his completely serious expression. His oh-so-adorable-must-not-bash-with-a-hockey-stick brother.

An exasperated sigh and the sound of skin hitting skin came from his other side accompanied by something along the lines of 'I raised _that_?'

Matthew just humored his brother with a curt rejection before letting his arms cradle his head on the table as the rest of the, literal, world moved about him, talking and situating for the meeting.

Wait one damned minute.

"I'm not your _little_ brother! I had people before you!" The northern twin let out a dignified yelp, snapping his head up just a little too quickly as his brain caught up to the conversation.

"Doesn't count. Should'a declared independence with me, Mattie-O."

His eyebrows scrunched together as he gave a semblance of a pout, but it was quickly brushed off by the blue eyed nation whom had already mastered such things long ago. Saving his dignity, Matt showed his tongue with a scowl before dropping his head back into his arms, barely missing the impending swipe.

_Whack_

"OW! Artie! That hurt! Wha'did ya do that for!"

"You're acting like a bloody prat….and stop butchering the English language."

Matthew cracked one eye open to peek at his brother, pure elated provocation in that violet circle. Al took a moment to notice, but he finally caught that eye with his own, face scrunching in irritation. The 'older' nation didn't even have to see the smirk on his face to know it was there, taunting him.

His voice was accusing and mopey with a pointed finger for accent. "But Mattie-"

_Whack_

"Take responsibility for your own actions, twit! You see, this is why -"

Well…Today wasn't so bad

Eyes began to drift back to the arguing pair, still waiting for that mystical moment when one of them would snap and they could finally have some peace. The northern twin knew better than this. Their 'family' had an odd way of showing it, but the chances that any of them would hurt each other after what they had already been through was slim to none. Instead, Matthew just let them continue their expression while he turned to nursing his headache. He let himself mentally immerse in an old French melody as he waited for the meeting to start, letting his mind wander carelessly from the chaos recirculating above him.

_'….but what are the repercussions…'_

* * *

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!"

Sam groaned as he cracked an eye open, hissing as the sunlight assaulted him from the open doorway.

"Dean…What time is it?" His words were still husky as he tried to throw off the veil of sleep.

"We are currently sitting at diez de la mañana." The Spanish was pitiful and mispronounced with a drawl.

Raising himself to a sitting position, the younger of the brother's raised a questioning brow.

"What? When did you learn Spanish?"

"When I picked up these taco's." There was proud grin on his Dean's face as he waved the brown bag containing his Mexican treat.

Getting over his initial shock of his brother's temporary multilingualism, Sam proceeded to try and interpret the words.

_Un…seis…nueve ...shit 10 am._

Scrambling for his phone, he noticed the device had been shut off. Not dead, but purposefully shut off. An angry sigh escaped his lips as he realized the only possible explanation for this.

"Dean…really?" He asked, shaking the offending device at his brother while his face held an accusing look.

"…mmm? Wan' one?" He offered , still chewing on the food he was attacking, only to receive a trademark 'bitching' scowl. "Screw you, man." The retracted with a look of childish affront on his face before getting back to his meal.

Sighing, Sam went back to his phone, waiting a few moments while it finished starting up, then moved to flip through to make sure there weren't any missed calls or messages. He didn't expect any as they hadn't been receiving anything as of late. It's had almost been too quiet recen-

_Ding_

Quickly skimming the message, Sam shot to his feet, swallowing hard. The message itself was only ten minutes old, give or take. Responding post-haste, the taller of the brother's finally answered the throng of food mumbled questions coming from the other side of the room.

"We have a job."

* * *

Canada sat back in his chair, trying to at least pretend to be listening to the presentation being given.

Wait. Who was speaking?

Papa Francis. Euro's? Ok. Back to daydreaming.

The nation wondered if this was how his brother saw the world. It wasn't usual for him to be like this, but his mind just wasn't _there_.

He had tried to pay attention, he really had. However, his mind began to protest after the fifth time he heard 'impossible, you bloody Yank.'. Instead, he found his eyes simply drifting over the table, inspecting each nation for a moment before trailing to the next. Flicking to the side, the clock stared back at him with terrible news. It was only a little before ten, still hours left here.

Movement near his foot caused him to look down for a moment. Kumashitsuji was wrapped up near his left foot, twitching ever so slightly in a fitful slumber. Maybe he needed to cut back on the bear's intake of seal. That usually brought bad dreams after all.

Closing his eyes for a moment, the nation took a deep breath, retreating into himself as he tried to expel the pain he was currently experiencing. Perhaps he needed to talk to his boss. See if there was anything going down that needed his attention. After all, this was unusual, he supposed.

_'…then I guess it's a deal…'_

Matthew's eyes snapped open at the words, but before he could question where it came from, an explosion of pain engulfed him. The feeling of his entire bodily code being torn apart and rewritten. Cold. Hot. Cold. Pin pricks. Stabs. The varying feelings attacked in at various points simultaneously. He wanted to tear at his skin, pull out whatever was causing this. His skin was crawling, almost literally. Yet, he could only sit there in as his entirety was numbed in suprise.

Finally, he released a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. Instead, he began to slowly hyperventilate, gasping to nearly non-existent streams as his entire body began to shake with force.

"..and z'at is why we -mon cher?" The Frenchman's turned in his seat inquisitively as he heard his former charge quietly struggling in the seat beside him.

The Canadian swallowed with difficulty as he tried to control himself.

"Mathieu?"

At the sound of his name, Matthew shot to his feet, hands splayed as they slapped the desk with a resounding _thud_ and every eye fell upon him with varying emotion from irritation to concern. His own eyes were wide, drilling holes into the desk as his mind sent an electric shock down his spine, causing his breath to hitch, depleting his already dwindling oxygen supply and his back arched almost unnaturally. Teeth were clinched so tight it was a wonder they didn't break.

"What's wrong? Bloody hell! Matthew. Come on lad." The voice beside him was built with concern, but something else, something akin to fear.

"I…." The words were cut off by a rising feeling in his throat. Trying again, his mouth just moved uselessly as the explanation ended when metallic liquid sputtered through his words. Red dribbled along his lips onto the orderly printed notes in front of him, dyeing it with the dense flow.

The sight was more than enough to send almost every nation in attendance into a drunken frenzy. Many were rushing for medical supplies or finding whatever news outlet they could find to try and source the problem. Shouts came from every which way as they found nothing wrong in various languages, nothing of any magnitude.

On either side of him, hands were steadying the large nation, but one was quickly removed as a shock was sent through them both at the touch. They were hastily replaced by another, larger pair.

"Mios Dio! Mateo!"

"Like, this is freaky!"

"Big bruder! What's wrong with him?"

"Atmen, Kanada."

His name was heavy in the air. It came from every direction, but the echo that was created in his mind made it impossible to pinpoint.

"Shit. Hang on, bro!"

Attempting to lift his head, Canada managed to glance up at those worried blues, a bloodied smile tried to bring comfort, before he slumped and was pitched into the dark.

A few seats were not empty despite the commotion. Some were in shock at the sudden attack, others trying to logically clarify the event, some indifferent to the plight. However, one mind had rusty gears turning full steam, perceptively. That pair of eyes narrowed into an unseen glare, irate and challenging.

* * *

Atmen, Kanada(GER)| Breathe, Canada

So...I have a problem.  
I have pretty much played this entire story out in my head, but putting it to paper without seeming rushed...is hard. Really hard.  
I will try to update quickly because of this, but at the same time, I have to be really careful not to leave plot holes (which will still occur)

Anywho. Let's do this. Please feel free to berate me for any OCCness. I'm still trying to get into their characters fully.  
(BTW...any Supernatural stuff will be around season 4...because school and series don't work together. I just recently re-watched up till this season after two years of not being able to see a single episode.)

I don't own Hetalia nor the Winchesters...Oh how I wish...


	2. Beam Me Up

"Dude…It's _New York City_."

"No, Dean."

"Just one club…then we can hunt."

"There are minor earthquakes in areas miles from fault lines and mentions of mutilated livestock, not to mention the altercation between five women at the local daycare….and you wanna go to a strip club?" His voice was incredulous.

"Soccer moms are friggen' scary….but Yes."

"No."

The older brother groaned out something about the other 'needing some' before he attacked his coffee.

"Fine. Just so you know, I would have bought you a lap dance."

Sam rolled his eyes as he continued to type furiously on his laptop, tilting it sideways out of habit when the waitress returned with two plates, setting them down while giving them a once over.

Dean eagerly returned the look, eyes resting on that cute little name tag pinned on her chest. She scoffed lightly when she turned away, leaving Dean sulking silently. Rude. Another ten minutes of staring and he might have remembered her name. Amy…no Amber? Well, walking away wasn't so bad either.

A swift kick to his shin had him back in reality.

"What?!" All he got in return was a parental glare.

"Here. Look." He turned his computer so his brother could see the screen better. "Eastchester and the surrounding area has been quiet lately. Not a peep from human or otherwise. It's like everything was hiding before two days ago."

"One, don't say peep. Two, maybe people decided to be happy for once Sammy."

"We are just outside of Manhattan." There was a look on his face as though this should have explained everything. "Impossible. With the signs that hunter reported, I think something pretty damn big is about to happen." Sam raised his brow at his statement as if daring someone to prove him wrong.

"That's another thing, Sam. If that hunter was so sure about this, why did he pass it on to Bobby? Shouldn't he jump on this kind of thing? I mean, it kinda comes with the job description."

The younger grimaced slightly "All I know is Bobby said it was reported and we should look into it."

"Maybe it was a trick, you know, like for our birthday?"

"Do you really believe that?"

"I will if you will."

There was a scoff and the conversation was finished. Sulking, Dean went back to his food, dismayed that his suggestion was shot down.

The two of them, focused on their respective actions, were thoroughly distracted until a voice shot up from behind the bar.

"Found your boy yet Arthur?"

Both brothers caught each other's eyes for a moment before giving a side glance to the bar. A blonde man had just walked in, making his way to the nearest booth, a few seats from where they themselves sat. His back was to them, but they could tell from his posture he wasn't even to his mid-years yet. Any kid he had would have had to of been quite young. Wonderful parenting skills to have lost him.

"No Henry, I was coming to ask you the same." The British accent was a bit surprising at first, but given the area, they should have expected foreigners.

Dean's attention wavered as the brunette went to serve the new customer. "Just Earl Grey, Mandy- I just don't understand. He was in no condition to be walking around."

Mandy? That was her name?!

"It's only been two days. Matthew will show up."

Sam held a victorious holier-than-thou-I-told-you-so look on his face as his brother downed his coffee. Coincidences never occurred in this line.

* * *

The large sign read 'Lawrence Hospital', both boys looking at it with aversion. The two of them had had enough of hospitals for a lifetime. Then there was the name itself that held a bad taste in their mouths

"You sure it's this one?"

"It's the only E.R in the area and if this Matthew was as bad as it sounded, it's our best bet."

"I don't see why we are even doing this. The kid just got tired of some chubby old nurse poking on him and telling him to cough." Dean spat out as he turned off the car and stepped out.

"Or he could be a part of this and if we find him, we find something on whatever we are hunting." Sam was right behind his brother, chiding.

Sound logic, no retort computable. Fuck.

"Whatever, let's get this over with."

Inside the hospital, things were, with fear of bad karma, dead.

A few doctors and nurses idled around while others seemed distracted with busywork.

A few eyes shot to them as the doors slid open and the nearest body was quick to great them, asking what ailed them.

"Actually, we are looking for someone." Sam replied, shoving his hands in his pockets out of habit.

"Dead? Alive? Don't know?" There was a sort of creepy humor in the way the doctor said that made Dean's eyes widen a bit. He wasn't scared, but damn that dude was freaky.

Before either could answer, the doctor jumped to his next thought. "Oh. I bet you're here for_ that_ one." Afterwards, he proceeded to ramble off directions and a room number in which they could find some unknown person that they apparently knew.

Neither of them said a word until he was finished, wanting to find someone with a bit more sanity to speak with.

"So. Room 1867? Think it's that kid's?" Sam asked, not expecting an answer.

"I hate hospitals" Not a response to the question, but Sam gave a small chuckle nonetheless.

Outside the aforementioned door, the two of them were a bit surprised to see a tall blonde man loitering around, staring wistfully at the numbers as if they were supposed to tell some sort of secret. Sharing a look, Dean stepped forward after losing the visual argument.

"Hey. Do you know if this is Mattie's room?" He asked, a bit of practiced thoughtfulness slipped into his voice.

The man jerked to face them, blue eyes wide with shock underneath his glasses. His jaw dropped a little, but he soon let a large grin plaster across his face. Dean noticed his face had a childish touch to it. He couldn't have been older than twenty, despite his large body.

Stealing a glance at his brother who was standing behind apprehensively, he made a mental comparison.

What the hell were they feeding kids these days?

And is that a bomber jacket? That's classic!

"Yea! This was…is Matt's room…why?" The voice had a slight drawl on the last word as some hesitation crept in.

"Well, you see, me and my brother here … live out of town and heard about it. We are lil' Mattie's uncles and were really worried about him so we decided to come visit, but…." He trailed off, leaving the details to be filled in by the target.

The American's grin faltered a little and Sam noticed the gesture didn't reach his eyes. Instead, he stared at them both analyzing, stony, and angry. Something wasn't right.

"Really? I don't think Matt ever talked about you…or any _uncles_ for that matter." His eyes peaked over his glasses, now obviously studying the two before him with extreme detail.

"Well-"

"So you two were close then? Do you know how it happened?" Sam interrupted his brother, that feeling of something not-so-right pulling at his gut.

The juvenile sniggered as his smile dropped into what could be classified as a take-your-shit-and-run sneer and his eyes narrowed.

Swaying slightly, he took a tentative step forward with his hands clenched at his sides.

"I'd hope so. I was standing right beside him."

He froze and he continued before either of the brothers had a chance to recover.

"We should start over. Name's Alfred F. Jones. Mattie's _twin_ brother…. Now, who the hell are you?

* * *

It was dark. It was bright. It was confusing.

This was his body, he was the one who was supposed to be controlling it.

So why was he walking towards –well, he really didn't know. His brain had shut off all signals, leaving him clueless.

He was numb to everything. There wasn't any jarring sensation from the rough steps that were being taken. The rise and fall of his chest didn't bring a cooling sensation to his lungs. He realized quickly that the sudden darkness followed by light was rapid-fire of his eyelids.

His senses still worked, all six of them, but they weren't his. No matter what he tried, nothing responded to his pleading. He was trapped in himself. It was the strangest feeling of being distant, separated from it all, but still being able to _know._

Matthew had to tell himself to breath, to calm down, but he soon realized how silly that sounded. How could he breathe? He didn't know how to anymore. His lungs were working by the power of something other than him.

On the bright side, he wasn't dead.

Right?

Not that he could die. His country was thriving. That sixth sense of his still worked along with the other five, it was detached, but his country and his people hadn't changed since-

Oh dear God. The meeting.

Images began flooding back to him up until the moment he blacked out. Pain. Red. Fear. He wanted to curl around himself and let his mind recede from it all while at the same time he wanted to find those close to him to tell them he was alright, but he wasn't allowed either luxury. No. Rather, his body continued to trek on through some unknown countryside.

Panic began to seethe in once more, this time taking longer to stave off. The Canadian had nearly been able to mentally steel himself, but that would have been too easy. Life couldn't allow that. It was against the rules.

"_You might as well give up."_

The only thing present now was shock. Voices didn't usually come out of thin air.

Unless…

Oh Fuck. He was crazy. It finally happened. Was it the scones? Maybe he had been hit too hard at the last hockey match. Damn it. Arthur was going to kill him for being so weak-minded.

And why was his crazy voice female? He was pretty sure he had the vital regions of a male.

"_And they say your brother is the stupid one…"_

Okay. Now he was exasperated at himself? Was that normal? He didn't have any friends to ask so-

"_Just stop. You're giving me a headache…well…Giving yourself a headache."_

It wasn't a lie. Canada felt the dull throb spring up.

"_Who are you?"_ Matthew was unable to resist the temptation to ask. It was obvious right? This was his own mind, right? He was just bat-shit crazy…..right?

"_We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other later, Canada."_

Later? Why later?

Why was he asking this question?

Cuckoo for Coco Puffs now.

It took a moment, but the trapped nation noticed his body had stopped moving. His feet were still on unfamiliar territory, but not a quarter of a mile ahead, there was an expanse of forest. Beyond that you would come upon Lac Magog, settled between Magog and Sherbrooke. Travel further with a few left turns and you would find yourself in one of the largest cities in –

Oh. That's where they were.

Anxiety was his new best friend. Wasn't he just in the meeting room?

That was in New York City. How did he end up at the border?

_"Oh. How silly of me. I forgot. Well, I'm going to be busy for a while, so you just sit back and enjoy the show."_

It was a mental spasm.

In one fell swoop, almost everything came rushing back to him. After the meeting and the hospital. Leaving. Wandering.

There were still missing pieces. Some why's and how's, but the general gist was very clear.

For the second time in a week, stuck in this psychological limbo, Matthew lost his grip on consciousness.

But before he did, the nation realized something.

He really would have preferred being insane.

* * *

Both brothers looked dumbfounded.

Since when did men in their thirties have kids already out of high school?

The only logical answer to that question sent shivers down both of their spines. Weren't the British supposed to be posh and proper, not having kids in primary school.

Sam was the first to react to the now glowering American who seemed to be waiting for the chance to jump at them.

"So you are his ….brother?"

"Did I stutter?"

There was a childish cock of his head that didn't match the face he was currently sporting.

"Sorry. We just needed to…" Well shit. The younger of the two was ready to leave and regroup now.

The mission was saved by some quick thinking on his brother's part. "We didn't know you would be here. You see. We aren't really his uncles." There was a noise from the youngest looking that made it clear he already knew this. "In fact, we don't know the kid -guy. I'm Agent Jenkins. This is my partner, Agent Leeroy. We are undercover trying to find your brother, but we don't have enough information to go on." There was a small grin on Dean's face as he finished the explanation. He was genetically a badass.

"Agents? Prove it."

With a practiced flick, they procured the correct forged badges with three well know letters across the top.

Alfred leaned in to inspect the badges, eyes darting from the identification to their faces rapidly. Something flashed across those blues, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by that Hollywood smile he had originally greeted them with.

"F.B.I! That's so cool!" His voice was louder than needed.

"Yes we are." Dean gave his brother, who was still put off by the change in attitude, a smug look over his shoulder. "Now, can you tell us what happened?"

"Oh right! Well….Me and Matt were sitting at the table when he suddenly collapsed. It was freaky! There was more blood than a Japanese horror film! So of course we brought him here. But now he's gone. I think it was aliens- Arthur's not so sure- but there is no other explanation! I mean seriously! You believe me right? That's why they sent in the Feds! It's like some plot to one of m—an American thriller!"

There was a pregnant pause as the blonde stopped his rant and caught his breath. The others were too put off by his newfound enthusiasm to properly do that thing with their mouths that made sounds to communicate.

"Umm, Yeah. Okay. We'll keep that in mind, Junior. Agent Leeroy." Dean couldn't walk away fast enough, leaving Sam to appropriately excuse them and follow.

"Alright. So we know why he's missing. If I had a brother like Space Cadet there, I would fake my own death too."

"Dean. We don't know if he's dead."

"Whatever. Let's just get out of here. We can come back and check the room when ADHD isn't here."

The taller of the two paused as he felt a vibration in his back pocket.

"Or…We can head to Newport, Vermont – Bobby just sent me a text. The local wildlife is performing a mass exodus all across the area, causing pileups on the highway."

"So this thing is scaring Bambi and friends. Great."

Both of them strolled leisurely to their car, not noticing the eyes that followed them from the front awning, mouth moving furiously into the speaker of his cell. His hand gently gripping a pair of glasses similar to his own.

* * *

Slow meh chapter...I'm sorry T_T.  
On another note, I am posting the 3rd chapter later ..possibly very later... tonight (pinky promise)too so..YAY.

Room 1867: Year Canada became a real nation  
Kudos to you if you recognize the Agent names they used.  
Also...I've never been possessed, so I had to make do with what I think would happen. Sorry.

UPDATE: leave it to me to go home to no internet. The next chapeter is typed. .i just cant get it up ahhghhsgrhnd


	3. Let's Go Home

It was cold.

Too damn cold.

Fucking Canada and its air and snow and shit. Coming into the U.S and making things royally suck. The fact that the sky had begun to darken beyond the ability of mere clouds did not help at all.

Dean sat in the Impala with the heater on full blast, refusing to get out just yet.

After a four hour drive, they were just outside of Newport, avoiding the security checks around the border, not enjoying the slight drizzle that had started up. The back road they had decided to take had gone from dirt to mud faster than he could say Wendigo, which probably wouldn't have been the best idea since they were in the middle of a forest in North America. A very thick, very dark forest. Something else to blame Canada for, he figured.

Even if they still were on the U.S side.

A sharp rasp at the window pulled Dean out of his impractical internal ramblings to face a less than pleased Sasquatch.

Oh wait.

That's Sammy.

"Anything?" He asked as he opened the door.

"Nothing."

"Well this was just a steaming pile of wasted time."

"No Dean. I mean there's nothing. Not even a cricket."

Dean was about to retort but closed his mouth tightly, thinking.

"Welp, I guess we should get to work then." He groaned. Stepping from his warm sanctuary, an angry glare was sent his way from an already soaked body. "So if this thing is out here -wait. What exactly is it?"

"Who knows? Something able to cause anything this big, I'd say some sort of vengeful spirit or more than likely-"

"A demon. Awesome." He finished the sentence he didn't want to hear, slamming the door a bit harder than he planned.

The two of them were in their own thoughts as Dean lifted the trunk, leaning over to stare at his arsenal. With a sigh, Dean began to deftly portion out the desired weapons. There was a shotgun for each of them along with plenty of rock-salt casings. A handful of salt packets snagged from various cafés were stuffed in each of their pockets.

Dean shoved a canteen into his brother's chest as he reached for one last thing. The blade was fairly unremarkable, but the both of them knew its power. Glancing up at Sam, Dean could see the hesitation in his eyes. It was a necessity. They couldn't let the demon run rampant, but that didn't mean the two of them enjoyed the after effects. They had seen plenty of broken families and if Matthew was really a part of this, they feared they were about to make another if things went south.

Flinching slightly as he slid the cool metal along his pant line, Dean forced himself to lock any reluctance within the confines of trunk.

* * *

America sat on the hood of his car. If asked, he could probably tell you the day and time he bought the 69' SS. He had bought it brand new, straight off the lot, painted candy black. Now the Camaro stood navy with white stripes after countless paint jobs throughout the years. It was one of his babies. Alfred had kept as many original parts as possible in the machine. Everything was fixed by hand, his hand. It wasn't like he had much else to do in his free time anyway.

However, for the first time since he bought the thing, he couldn't even spare a thought towards it while basking in its glorious presence.

He sat, glassy eyes half-lidded, focusing on something outside of this current realm, completely ignoring the clothing that now clung to him due to the precipitation. Mattie had become a wild card. No matter how hard he tried, the American couldn't get a read on his location. It was the first time anything like that had happened. Frustrating him beyond belief. If he was still in his country, he should have been able to find him with little effort.

Yet, those two 'agents' were another story altogether. They were coming in loud and clear. He could feel them, like an itch on his collar bone, rummaging around in the boondocks near Newport.

They had asked about Mattie specifically, by name. No one should have known outside of the nations and even then, most were still clueless to the developing situation. If they were looking for him, Alfred was going to keep tabs on them. They were suspicious. Who knew what they wanted. If they planned on hurting Mattie, they had another thing coming. His citizens or not, there were just some things he couldn't allow.

The nation had followed them after a curt conversation with England, turning on his phone's GPS so his former caretaker could find them easily enough. This wasn't his land anymore, so Arthur couldn't 'feel' them the way Alfred could.

Now it seemed they had found a place to stop as their progress was suddenly halted about fifty miles from where he currently sat. He held their position for about ten minutes before figuring they were going to stay in that area for a good while. Eyes opened, now fully seeing his surroundings. Fifty miles. With his newfound awareness, he gave the hood a loving pat. He could do that in fifteen, twenty tops.

Hauling himself back to the driver's seat, the young nation realized he didn't have a plan to explain his following them, but that really didn't matter right now. He was the Hero, off to make a grand entrance.

And God help those boys if they made him become the villain.

* * *

"Can we go now?" There was whiney irritation in the elder's voice.

Sam ignored his brother's complaining, sticking to keeping his attention on the path in front of him. Getting down the small incline hadn't been a problem thirty minutes ago. Getting back up, after all the rainfall, was another story. Both of them were exhausted from walking around in the cold and wet, Sam himself felt even his temper on edge from the fatigue.

As they finally scrambled back up onto the dirt-turned-swamp road, the two of them stood a moment, catching their breath.

"You know, I'm getting too old for this. You thinking retirement? I'm thinking retirement. A nice beach house in Cancun. Pretty chicas serving drinks I can't pronounce –mmm."

Sam grinned at his brother. "You never struck me as the settling down type."

Dean just scoffed at his brother, limping slightly over to the car.

"God. I think I'm chaffing." This garnered a chuckle from his younger.

"Not funny Sam. I hope you—"

He turned to throw an insult at his brother, but instead was met with a sight that shocked them both.

Standing between the two was a figure they had begun to weasel out of their mind….for many reasons.

"Alfred?" Sam asked just above a whisper.

The blonde tilted his head slightly to show a smirk to the brother behind him.

"Hear that, Canada? Even people who don't know who you are…Well, still don't know who you are." A light chuckle was given. The voice was soft, but it just intensified the creep factor in Dean's book.

"Canada? Dude? Did you take your med's today?"

"Dean-" Sam swallowed hard after noticing subtle differences in the boy and brought the shotgun to aim. "-that's not Alfred."

Without a word, the other quickly brought his up as well, aiming at the teen's chest.

Remembering Alfred had mentioned being a twin, Sam was hesitant to ask the next question. "Matthew? Is that you?"

The subject in question clicked his tongue. "Well, that wasn't as fun as I had hoped." Violet eyes closed, opening to eyes devoid of color and light, black as the paint on the Impala. Another blink and it was gone, but the brothers had seen enough.

"Unholy Bastard."

"Oh. Now that's not very nice Dean." Matthew stated, a small smirk ever present.

"I'm not the one body-snatching kids from hospitals."

"Kid?" There was a short pause as a look of genuine confusion flashed over his face. It was quickly replaced by something akin to sickening mirth. "Boy, you have no idea what you are hunting, do you?"

Dean was about to retort about how he knew _exactly_ what he was hunting, when the sound of an engine snapped all of their attentions.

"…and the hero comes to save the day." The voice was sing-song and childish.

On any other given day, Dean would have spent an hour or two admiring the beauty of the machine that pulled up behind his own baby. It was a masterpiece. Well sculpted and preserved for generations to admire.

On any other given day, he would have enjoyed speaking with the owner, sharing tips and stories. Crying over beer about the fickleness of their ladies and the long hours they had to work to get her to purr _just right_.

Unfortunately, today was not that day. Not when the machine in question was nearly forced into park and the owner almost ripping the door open.

With a pistol trained right at his brother.

He was positive that wasn't rock salt loaded in there.

Oh look. _Another one_.

This one pointed at him.

Since when did they give crazies pistols like that?

"What the Sam Hill do you think you are doing to Mattie?!" The venom in his voice was nearly suffocating.

"Ok. I know this looks bad—really bad—but you need to hear us out." Sam began mediating, trying to divide his attention evenly between the twins.

"You've got one minute."

"Al…" There was a pleading tone in the voice. "Al, why?"

That was all it took for the American to grit his teeth and pull the hammer back. "Make that thirty seconds."

The brothers looked at each other, the same message in their eyes.

_Well shit_

"Look here Blonde. We don't have time for the run around. Your brother here had something bad in him and we need to get it out, okay? Now let us do our jobs."

"Your _Federal _jobs?" His voice was mocking as he kept his eyes trained on the scene in front of him.

"Look…do you want to try to help him or not?" The annoyance in his voice was apparent. He didn't have time for the 'truth is out there' speech right now.

And not with a pistol aimed to kill.

"You seem to be _the_ danger – Mattie, you okay?"

"I'm fine Al…I just …Can we go home now?"

"Yea." A challenging glare was sent toward both of the Winchesters as me motioned with his head for his own brother to come over.

The fairer blonde didn't make two steps before a third car joined their entourage. The white rental Camry, pulled in a little further from the rest, rolling to a stop before its driver darted out, not bothering to turn it off.

"Am—Alfred! What the bloody hell – Oh god Matthew!"

Dean couldn't have rolled his eyes any harder.

"It's all good now Artie."

"What are you talking about? Put those blasted things away before you hurt someone. You lads too!"

The American didn't flinch at the scolding, but Sam and Dean found it strange that someone they had only seen once in their lives decided to make themselves a parental figure.

The shock was more than enough to cause their arms to slacken just a bit, much to the glee of all around, but more so to one in particular.

It was almost too easy.

He would be home free in the company of two nations that wouldn't –

"Wait a tick. Who the hell are _you_?"

The Brit's face was twisted in confusion and anger. For a moment everyone figured he was speaking to the two strangers with shotguns, but that was soon dismissed as his eyes were trained on the boy between all of them.

"Arthur…That's Matthew. You can't seriously have forgotten him already."

"I know damn well who that looks like, _Alfred_, but that is _not_ Matthew.

The Winchesters almost wanted to kiss the man.

_Almost_.

"What are you talking about Arthur? It's me. This isn't funny." There was almost angry desperation in the voice as the pinpricks on the back of his neck alerted him to the fixed aim of the shotguns.

"I thought I felt something wrong in the meeting room. Now I'm sure of it." Arthur steeled his gaze and hardened his voice. "I don't know what part of hell you crawled out of, but… _Get_. _Out. Of. My. Son_."

Alfred was about to criticize about Arthur's senile and delusional mind when he heard a giggle that sounded far from human bubble up from his brother.

"Damn. So close. _America_ is stupid enough, but ol' Britain is another story." The two in question flinched at the formal use of their names. The two humans all but forgotten as they stared at the relative in front of them. They rarely heard their country names from him anymore, only during the wars and meetings had that been their titles.

"Mattie?"

"Hmm…Oh. Canada's not here right now. Leave a message and I'll give it to him when—if he wakes up." The grin on that gentle face caused the American's arms to drop to his sides as if they were made of lead. Pistols hanging uselessly in his hands.

There was that prickle again, but this time, it was fearsome. Before any of them had the thought to blink, the blonde was nothing more than an afterimage, the physical body appearing a few feet to the left of his twin. Where he once stood was Dean, blade in hand, poised to strike.

"How horrible. You would kill lil' Mattie in front of his family like that?" The thought made all present shiver. Dean had tried to avoid thinking about the action as he did it. Now, the scenario that almost happened played out in front of him like a bad horror plot.

Taking the silence as an answer, the possessed nation turned to those who called him kin. A sadistic smile was the last thing they saw before they were both hit by an invisible wall.

Arthur was pushed back between the cars, his body meeting the ground much too harshly for his liking. He was fortunate enough that the ground had been softened by the rain, cushioning his fall, but not by much as he skid down the ditch.

Alfred was slung back as well, though his path wasn't so lucky. He was given only a moment of shock before his back was met by something just as hard. Can't beat the make of a car made with real metal, but it can sure as hell beat you. The force was enough to dent, twist, and slide the body and rear chassis as his mass slammed into the back, just under the window. Glass rained down as the panes shattered.

There was a shot and a shout before everything went completely still.

…For but a moment.

"**FUCK!**" The shout was painful, far too forced, and not nearly as loud as it was intended.

Two brothers stood in stunned silence.

One Brit was clutching his arm as he meander his way back to the group.

One American sat against his car, eyes closed with shallow breaths as he bled from various wounds. His lips still quivering from the impromptu shout.

...And one Canadian was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Sorry this was later than intended. Finally got the internet going again...life is complete.

Still don't own Hetalia nor the Winchesters.


	4. National Security

"America!"

The shout brought both Winchesters from their daze as they saw the man from the café rushing to Alfred.

"Bloody Hell…literally. Come on now, lad, open your eyes." His voice was coaxing, as if pleading with a child to do something he didn't want, bending down gingerly. The Brit was favoring his left arm, which was slightly distorted, speaking volumes about his own problem.

The other nation was sporting a variety of cuts from the fallen glass. Sam suspected a broken rib or two from the ragged breaths coming out. He grimaced, before grabbing Dean's attention.

"Call an ambulance. He's-"

A look of horror overcame the man as he noticed movement from his peripherals.

Arthur had his good shoulder under the younger's arm, attempting to pull him to his feet. Alfred was unresponsive at first, his head lolling to the side, but soon got the hint after a few commands ending in 'you lazy git'.

"Whoa! Dude. It's Medical 101, don't move the victim after a demonic ass-kicking."

Ignoring the shorter man in favor of his charge, he managed to get the American to his feet before anyone could stop him.

"Now. Enough of this. Pull yourself together, boy."

"But-"

"No 'buts'." He sighed, his anger softened by the worry in his voice. "Let's get these out of you."

Those two were lost in their own little world, busying their hands with the bits of glass that refused to dislodge themselves.

On the other end, was another story. Sam was aghast at the scene before him. Medically, Alfred needed attention yesterday. A hit like that had high chances of broken bones, internal bleeding, head injuries, just a concussion if he was lucky.

Dean was staring, trying to fight down his lunch as his eyes fell back to the car. The metal had twisted and broken, leaving ragged edges, some of which had been inside the teen, if the syrupy coating was any indication. Somewhere deep inside, there was an ache for the state of such a beautiful mechanical instrument.

But the main fact was, Alfred needed to sit the fuck down.

Not to mention Arthur wasn't Yankee Doodle _Dandy_ either.

"Look here, Sherlock. Your kid there needs to sit the hell down before he goes zombie on us from blood loss."

Sam dropped his eyes for a moment, steeling himself, before stepping forward to assist the blondes. Maybe the distress was affecting their hearing and common sense.

"He's right. We ne-"

Once again, Sammy was unable to finish his sentence as he notices lines of blood coming from puckered scars.

_Wait._

_What?_

They were slowly losing the red coloring and fading back smoothly into his skin, seemingly as if they were never there.

A moment later, he looked into the cool gazes of blue and green that darted over him appraisingly before finding solace in each other. A sheepish smile came over the American as he shrugged off the loss.

"I'm fine. Where'd Mattie go?" The American's voice was a ghost of what it used to be.

No one answered him, giving him all the information he needed.

Shoving off the two that were helping him, only one came back, placing a hand over one of the deeper cuts on his back. The other backed further, his stance defensive.

England sighed, awaiting the impending onslaught. He was not in the mood for the 'oh-dear-god-your-monsters-game today.

"Who –What- are you?" Sam's voice was demanding.

Silence.

A dry chuckle from the American broke through. "I could ask you the same thing…Leeroy was it?" Both of the nations noticed his hand had gripped the shotgun tight enough to turn his knuckles white. For all they knew was that it was a loaded gun, and gunshot wounds were a bitch to heal and hurt just as bad.

Dean, having not witnessed what his brother had, was confused at the change of atmosphere.

"That's right. I'm Jenkins. _Special _division. Fede-"

"Bull…shit." There was a conviction in the American's face that killed any thoughts of protest. Blue eyes bore into them, demanding the truth. It was as if he _knew_. But that was impossible.

Still, lying now seemed to be the less appropriate route.

Exasperated, Dean figured it best to get it over with.

"I'm Dean. This is my brother Sam. In a word. We're hunters. We take down the things that go _bump_ in the night…and not just your grandma's cat, Fluffy. We've been on the road for god knows how long. I'm tired. I'm wet. Your turn…and so help me if you hide something important."

* * *

"Wait. So you expect me to believe that you are physical…manifestations of nations." The taller brother chuckled lightly at the end of the sentence, but cut it short when neither of the other two cracked a smile at what he thought was a bad joke.

In fact, they looked pretty serious.

"Hey why not Sammy? I mean. We have the ol' Satan on speed dial. Why not add Jamaica to our list of friends?"

Dean's voice wasn't too believing either, though he was giving them a curious look. By now, the blue eyed man had stopped bleeding from all but one of the deepest cuts on his back, which had turned into little more than an angry scar. The British one was fairing even better. He had, abet painfully, moved his arm back to the correct position and managed to regain use of it, though he still favored it and refused to move it as much.

That, of course, was **not** normal.

"-America."

Both of them froze for a moment.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm America."

They looked at him as though he sprung a second head and started to make out with it.

"You know? Land of the Free? Home of the Brave? Best damn place on Earth."

"Oh shut up you bloody twit." A light punch landed on the other's arm.

"Let me guess? U.K?"

The nation nodded lightly in response as if it were the most normal of questions.

"...And I'm the Queen of England."

The nation blanched. "You most certainly are not!"

"Right….Dean." Pulling his brother to the side after the most patronizing look he could muster, Sam began speaking in hushed tones.

"Well?"

"This is the most creative any demon has been to convince us they weren't a threat." Dean whispered hurriedly at his brother. "I say we take care of these two before going after the other Shining twin."

Sam nodded his agreement before thinking heavily. There was a notion in his mind that didn't settle well with him.

"What if they are telling the truth?"

"_Oh come on,_ Sammy. Nations?! I get that they aren't humans, but _Nations_?"

The taller shrugged. "We've seen weird, not like this, but….. I would completely agree with you otherwise."

He sighed, turning back to shoot the waiting men a smile before continuing. "Fine. Test them." He gestured with his head, leaving the dirty work for his sibling.

"I'm too sober for this crap." Slurring out the words to the wind.

Sam broke away, turning back to the self-proclaimed nations.

Pulling out the flask hidden in his jacket, Sam deftly unscrewed the top, looking only a little apologetic as he sloshed an arch of water towards both of the men.

The liquid landed with little fanfare.

The nations blinked in a mix of surprise and indignation.

"What the hell?" The Brit was irritated more by the action itself than the extra dampness. It wasn't as if they could get any wetter.

Sam caught his breath, wide eyed. "Umm…_Christo_?"

Not even a flinch.

_Well…_

"You said America, right?"

_…shit_

The addressed nation brought out his signature smile, though a bit nervously.

"Yup! Have my own badge as well!" He motioned for England to pull his wallet from his back pocket, not wanting to irritate the still mending ribs.

Flipping it open, he pulled a card from one of the slots, flashing a badge identical to the one they carried.

Well, almost identical.

This one had a little extra writing and a shiny little area with the words 'special clearance'.

For some reason, this one didn't seem to come from a Kinko's.

The two humans just felt a lump in their throats as they mentally ran through every 'un-American' act they had committed in life.

* * *

The Impala coasted down the road, four passengers in tow.

They had agreed to head towards one of America's houses that he had near the border about an hour out. Alfred's car had a bent axle, so it was un-drivable for the time being. Arthur had offered to let the boys follow him in the rental, but he was met with opposition. Al, because he wanted to ride with the brothers to make sure they didn't run off with this newfound information {read: couldn't bring himself to sit in a _Camry_}, and Dean because he felt the rental could be traceable {read: irrational reasoning to avoid having to follow someone who drove a _Camry_}.

After retrieving what few valuables they had in the cars, they ended up piling into Dean's car, leaving the others for another time, with Alfred giving directions from the backseat every now and then since it was apparent that the house was not on any GPS. The road kept ending in thicket of trees when they tried.

The brothers eyes kept shifting to the rear view mirror, concerned about having both America and England in the back seat.

Okay. Concerned was the wrong word.

They were confused.

And freaked out.

Not 'I forgot my homework' scared.

This was full blown 'I just ran over my grandma's prized tulips with dad's stolen corvette after two bottles of tequila' shit yourself terrified.

This was not up their alley.

Actually, they would have loved to know exactly whose alley this was up, because that bastard would have to have balls of steel to associate with a _country_.

Who could just call up their Motherland to ask them out for coffee or tea? Maybe catch the game on Saturday?

Wait…these were guys.

So…Fatherland?

Sam began roughly rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He needed to stop thinking about it before he gave himself an aneurism.

He stopped suddenly, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.

"Arthur?" He asked awkwardly, testing out the name he was told to use, continuing when he got a response. "Back there, you said Matthew was your son? If that's the case, then he's a…"

"Country? Yes."

Dean almost slammed the brakes at that.

"You're kidding right? How the hell did I demon possess an entire friggen' country?"

"You're guess is as good as mine. I've never seen anything like it."

"Wait. How can Mattie be possessed? He's deficient in that, isn't he?"

Everyone had a look of pure confusion until Arthur slapped his palm against his face.

"You git! That's Potassium." The frustration could be heard in the Brit's voice as he began to recheck his charge for any major head injuries, now able to use both arms freely, much to the disturbance of those who had seen one of them twisted unnaturally not an hour before.

Sam just looked perplexed.

Dean looked absolutely mortified.

"Good Ol' U.S.A" He mumbled, too cheerfully.

Sam coughed to try and hide his brother's impolite outburst. Senseless or not, it was still their country riding back there…if he fully believed that. "Then that makes Mattie," He paused for but a moment, remembering something from their conversations he should have taken notice of a while back, "Canada?!"

Two heads nodded in silent agreement.

Sam groaned. "So we have a demon who has taken control of a country, in turn, the government, the people, the military?" Leaving the last part open for question, he hoped the answer was negative.

"Like I said, I've never come across this so I don't know how it works now and it's normally a bit more complicated than that." Pausing for Alfred to give a turn to Dean. "But for all intents and purposes, we should consider it a possibility. We are separate from our people to some extent, but…"

Sammy didn't have the time to muse of this new development.

"Canada has a military?" All attention fell on the driver now. "Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. Hey! Maybe next time we see him he'll be riding a moose, high as Bob Marley, wielding a chainsaw! That would be…"

"The nerve! Matthew would never experiment with drugs!"

"Dude…the guy is what…at _least _two-hundred years old. He has to of toked it up once or twice! I mean, it's CANADA."

"Oh sod off! I _know _my son and he-"

"Umm…Arthur…"

"Wha- You can be…_OHMY__GOD._"

Alfred gave an apologetic smile as he witnessed the ex-empire's entire image of his twin brother slowly shatter.

* * *

As soon as the door was unlocked, the Winchesters set to salting every entrance in the house.

In a two story abode belonging to a man who was a big fan of nature, it was a very daunting task.

Did he _really_ need that glass wall with sliding doors?

They stuck together for a bit of the first floor, showing the two nations how to properly do it. Arthur seemed to know the basics already. By the time they made it to the living room, Alfred took to the upstairs bedroom with a side agenda of new clothing, promising a set for each of those left wet downstairs.

Sam noticed an apprehensive look in the other nation's eyes once the American's back was turned.

"You're really worried, aren't you?" He cautiously asked once the aforementioned was out of earshot, stomping around upstairs as if to scare away any lingering spirits. Sam was trying not to pull up something he shouldn't. What did he know about nation problems?

And what did he know about angering one?

"If I don't worry, who the hell will?" The answer was almost a sigh. "Matthew is the closest to him. With him being God knows where, I have to keep a good eye on that lad to keep him in line. If this is as serious as I think it is then…."

The brunette seemed to ponder this for a moment, empathetic towards the nation. "Yeah. If my brother went missing," A look from Dean was shot towards him, full of understanding, "I would _probably_ do something stupid too."

Or should say '_did_ do something stupid'

Dean flinched at this, knowing full well the insinuations of that statement.

"How does that work anyway?"

"Pardon?"

"The family thing. I mean, you're _nations_. How can you have…families?"

Sam was disturbed by the insensitive question. Did his brother really not see how offensive it was? He was curious himself, but to ask it like that just seemed…

_Wrong?_

Before he could spout apologies for his other half, the Brit humored him with an answer.

"When you live forever, seeing what we have, sometimes you need something -someone -to keep you sound. We may not be human by your definition, but we try. So, no, we aren't related by any blood. Only the two Italians and German's, who share borders, could be considered real siblings."

There was a pause, and even Dean decided it might just be best to let it drop from the pained look of the face of the speaker.

Yet, he kept on.

"I raised them as colonies, when they were practically defenseless in a New World. In human terms, I could have just been anything from a relative to a caring bystander. …but when a lad who barely reaches your knees, asks you why he doesn't have a father like the other kids… what do you expect me to say?"

Both humans were expectantly silent as they began to work a bit faster, breaking into different rooms as Alfred returned to 'heroically' help finish the task. Changing their wet clothes could wait for once they were sure that they weren't about to be brutally murdered by the supernatural.

Once they had finished the last fireplace, the Winchester boys headed back to the living room, finding the two nations already gathered there, one speaking quickly as he paced a hole in the floor.

"-Yes, I'll text you the exact coordinates. See you then." With that, Arthur ended the call and dropped himself into the nearest seat to cradle his head in his hands.

"Did they agree, Artie?"

"Some of them did. Most everyone left after the incident. The meetings were canceled after all. I managed to convince a few to meet here, with the promise of an explanation. I couldn't get ahold of that stupid Frog." Alfred chuckled at the name.

Finding seats of their own, the boys looked over the other two, a look of expectancy in their eyes.

When neither decided to tell them what was going on, Dean's impatience got the best of him.

"Who's meeting where? You don't really plan to get a bunch of people here to…help…do you?" The accent on the word told exactly what he felt about making this into a group picnic.

The more people there were, the more they would have to protect.

And if they were important enough to be called by the once empire, chances were they were about to have half the world to care for…literally.

They did not want that responsibility.

Before either of them could protest, Arthur volunteered to make dinner for the group only to be stopped by a horrified Alfred. After a minor scuffle, it was decided that they would have an American dinner with British tea.

Once Al went shopping that was.

"There's a Walmart about five miles from here. I'll go grab a few things and be right back."

"You shouldn't be going off alone." There was concern in his voice. Not only for the nation, but the fact that the only car he had seen the other drive was F.U.B.A.R'd on some back country road and he sure as hell wasn't handing over the key to the Impala.

Alfred only laughed at the alarm.

"I'm the hero, I can't be possessed." With that irrefutable logic, he procured a set of keys from a desk drawer before darting out, shouting over his shoulder. "I'll be back in an hour tops, promise."

The rumble of what could only be a Harley made the two boys jump and the Brit sip at a glass of water and roll his eyes at the 'noisy contraption'.

* * *

Trying to make longer chapters.  
Sorry for any plot holes and such. My mind is chapters ahead of my hands.  
-stupid spell check keeps making 'Sam' into 'Same'-  
Anywho...I'll see if I can't get another one out tonight since I don't have school tomorrow and my brain is on high alert.

Thanks for the encouragement guys!

I don't own the Winchester boys nor Hetalia


	5. Z'e Awesome

_"Geht scho Woki mit deim Popo, Woki mit deim! Woki mit deim Popo, wei wos i wü bist du…"_ The words fell out of tune from the R8's opened windows, blaring at the pedestrians, distracting some while angering most.

Who needed a nice quiet evening with their sweetheart when Awesome had arrived?

If anyone was annoyed enough to cause a scene, the Prussian saw none of it as he was playing Formula 1 on the outer streets of Manhattan.

It had taken all his centuries old persuasive power to convince his bruder to allow him free reign and his choice of car here in America.

Not that he needed the permission.

He was just nice enough to ask.

You know. Just in case the unawesome police here were too stupid to recognize his amazingness and decided to throw him in jail. That way Germany would have a starting point if he didn't make it home.

And what better way to repay his bruder for letting him borrow such a wonderfully _German_ machine than to run it ragged to the best of his ability. It just wouldn't do it justice if he didn't let the horses run. The speakers were practically begging to be busted.

And don't get him started on the tires. The road was still wet from the drenching earlier, making them last longer and slide better.

Occupying the other seat was Francis, or France, depending on how close you were to him.

Though it seemed everyone was pretty _close_ to France.

"Mon cher…Did Espagne tell you when 'e would be back?" The slightly nasal voice piped up, interrupting the silver haired man's solo.

"Nein. Somez'ing about z'at Italian of his needing him." He laughed, finding something terribly funny about it. "He's so vhipped!"

"Ohonhon…I do know 'ow you are with mon fils." There was a victorious smirk on the Frenchman's face as he felt the car jerk slightly to the left at that statement.

There was a low muttering in which 'dumm Französisch' was the only part the blonde nation could understand as the blaring music stopped for a moment when the song ended.

"Ah. But mon Mathieu is part Français as well." Oh the joys of turning an albino red can never be accurately written with the limitations of the human language.

"Mein Awesome changed z'at! Now, he's part Prussian!" As soon as the words left his mouth, Gilbert could feel the innuendo hanging in the air, doing summersaults like some damned gymnast trying to get a perfect ten "…Scheiß" Gilbird chipped in a few sounds of his own from the shoulder of his owner.

Suddenly, by some miracle, the Prussian was able to push his foot even farther to the ground, trying to impress the awkward out of the air.

"How's Matt anyway. You said he collapsed." The Prussian hadn't been allowed into the meeting and wasn't privy to his location now.

" 'e should be fine. L'Angleterre took 'im to zhe 'ospital. Zhey should be out soon." France knew where his son was, but had managed to pry himself from the hospital in order to keep others from finding out where exactly he was. His friend meant well, but the last thing his Mathieu needed was a suffocating lover at his bedside all night.

Despite the increase in speed, they didn't get much farther in distance or in conversation before the driver had to press the one pedal he had avoided most of the night, the brake.

And he had to press it _hard._

Turning the wheel and pulling into a hard slide, Gilbert managed to stop a few feet short of the obstruction, passenger door horizontal to the strangely calm blonde who stared at them uninterested.

Both passenger and driver were recovering from shock and a severe case of whiplash when that voice broke through the smell of rubber and burning clutch.

"Bonsoir, Papa"

Regardless of the pain, Francis' head snapped to attention.

"Matthieu? Qu'est-ce que tu fais, enfant?!" He nearly ripped the door off the hinges just to get it open faster.

The other simply hummed a response through his upturned lips.

"Je voulais te voir ... et vous permet me rejoindre." The smile grew bigger as the Prussian scrambled out of the car, hand gripping his forehead.

"Gilbert?!" He exclaimed with unrestrained glee. Two birds with one stone.

"Vhat-Bird— die Hölle!" His thoughts were jumbled as he stared at the nation with a plethora of feelings, ending on one not so pleasant.

France seemed to regard his former settlement as a parent might a drunken teen. "Mon fils, what are you doing 'ere? Allez. We need to get you 'ome now. "

Reaching a hand out towards his son, Francis expected the gentle touch of his Canadian in return. Instead, he got the harsh slap of a Prussian instead.

A very irate, surly, Prussian with a face that Francis hadn't seen since the fields of battle that required horse and iron.

"Teufels Schlampe! Vhat did you do to Mattie?"

The smile was fading now, slowly morphing until there was nothing but an inhuman snarl left. "First that British bastard, now you? Why can't you all be good little lambs?"

"What is…"

"Don't you leave mein side Frenchie." There was no sign of request in his voice. Strictly demanding. The nation was fingering the tick cross that hung on a chain around his neck, thumb tracing a familiar carved pattern that decorated the backside. The body in front of them didn't seem to make a move for them, assuring him that the power of it was still effective.

"Oh yes. Please flock together." The Not-Matthew jeered. "..but what will we do now? Have a stare down for the rest of eternity? I'm immortal too you know." There was a pause as he considered something. "Well, maybe one of us might …._dissolve_ before then." There was a pointed look with that statement.

The older blonde could only shiver at the idea. He'd never wanted to hear something like that again, especially not from his Mathieu.

If it affect the one whom the abuse was aimed, he didn't show proof of it. Instead, red eyes were trained ahead as his mind began working through information he had been taught since this beginning of his time.

There was some lip biting and nervous shuffling, but there was little room for debate at what had to be done.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion…" All accent seemed to drop from the nation's voice after the first word. The Latin was well practiced, falling from his lips easily, like a personal prayer.

The Frenchman slowly grew-wide eyed as he recognized the phrases. He was unable to _see_ like the former Knight, but he had lived through dark times. A hard swallow was needed to force back both fear and bile at the new realization.

Matthew stood for but a moment before an insufferable pain overcame him, causing his body to spasm. Eyes suddenly flashed to black, sending a searing glare towards the two. "Shit! Matthew say's 'hello'. He'd love to talk, but…."

That voice wasn't Matthew's. It was darker, pained.

That scream wasn't Matthew's. It was animalistic, unnerving.

After making sure he got in a few last words, the air suddenly became heavy, suffocating the other two as one attempted to finish his incantation.

Much to their dismay, the boy was gone just before they could. There wasn't any traps or holding spells in place, thus it was the best he could do to run him off.

Gasping, Francis looked to his friend whom looked shaken to his very foundations.

Not that he himself wasn't on the verge of a mental breakdown.

"Mon ami…What..?"

Francis' voice didn't even register.

"How did Mattie…" There was an audible snap as the albino's teeth came together. "Not. Awesome. If z'at Scheißkerl hurts him…" Turning on his heel, the Prussian ordered his friend to get in the car.

A silver head slammed on the steering wheel, causing the horn to protest loudly, accompanied by a yellow chick on the dash.

"What mon Mathieu said at zhe end… was tha—"

Gilbert's head snapped up as he started the car without another thought.

"Call Britannien. He knows somez'ing und verdammt, he's going to tell us."

At the same time, Prussia pulled out his own device, balancing it between his shoulder and ear once he finished dialing, his hands busy maneuvering the wheel and gear shift. The ringing was incessant, infuriating, as he waited for that tell tell click.

"Come on un brat. I _know_ you know."

* * *

The brothers sat uncomfortably back in the living room, waiting for Arthur to return from tossing their clothes in the dryer. They stared at the large black duffle bag that sat on the table, an arsenal they had procured from the trunk, for 'just in case'. A dull hum was ongoing in the background as they kept a television to make sure Canada didn't declare World War Three or anything.

Normally, they didn't have a problem rummaging through other people's houses, but this wasn't some ordinary house they ended up being invited to or broke into searching for clues. This was 'From sea to shining sea', 'Rockets red glare', 'Boot up your ass' America's house. In other words, the last person they wanted to be on the trigger end of some Ol' fashion western justice….again.

Sam shifted slightly, the clothes he wore well fitted on him. He was a bit taller than the nation, making any extra slack in the fabric a welcome addition. Thankfully, America had a plethora of sweatpants that fit him, though his ankles ended up bare. The large black shirt was probably meant for sleeping, but managed to fit snug around his broad shoulders, still in a comfortable range.

This brother wasn't so lucky. He was the smallest of them. The exception was Arthur, but he seemed to have a few extra pairs of clothing here already. He had ended up in a white button up that covered down to his fingertips, causing him to have to roll the sleeves to his elbows. America had offered him a pair of shorts.

Dean Winchester did _not_ do shorts.

Instead, he took the smallest pair of dark jeans they could find, apparently a pair of Canada's who had a smaller waist than his southern brother. They fit fairly well with the assistance of a belt, but these too had to be manually shorted.

Damn tall people.

Both looked to the door as Arthur returned, smelling a bit like detergent.

The nation returned to his seat, eyes a bit downcast.

He was worried about Alfred, but more than that, not five minutes after the younger country left, he received a frantic call from France. Most of the conversation had been a mumbled mix of his native tongue, old French, and something that sounded like it was supposed to be English. Somewhere in the background, someone was shouting in German…and Latin?!

By the time the Brit had managed to pull the man together enough to get a straight answer, the green eyed man felt like he hated the Romantic language more than ever.

But at least they had gotten some answers.

He repeated most of the conversation to the boy's before they changed, telling them about Matthew's appearance and the possibility that the possessed nation was trying to garner others to his side for whatever reasons he may have had. Tactfully, he left out any identifying aspects for the nations that the boys had yet to meet. Arthur had no qualms about calling in help for this, but if they didn't become involved, there was no need for humans to know about them.

It was almost laughable. The notion that Prussia and France wouldn't be here before morning was inconceivable.

"So…" Dean drawled out the word, eyes shifting as he puckered his mouth, looking for something to do.

The blonde immediately tried to brighten, putting on his gentleman façade. "Oh. Pardon me. I'm being rude. Do you need anything?"

"No. It's okay. It's just Dean."

The nation let out a chuckle. "I understand completely." Sam's eyebrows came together for a moment before Arthur resolved the statement. "I've lived around Alfred for around two-hundred years." As if that explained everything, Sam nodded understanding and sympathy.

"Umm…I'm still here. I'm nothing like that...thing –No offense."

"None taken."

"Dean…you don't see _any_ similarities? None at all?"

"…nope."

Same let out a sigh and met a pair of bright green eyes that carried the same smirk as was on his face. There was a parental look in them, one of understanding as if he had watched similar scenes a thousand times before. Which, he probably had, and more.

They were allowed a few minutes of personal thought before Dean became bored once more.

"Ok. I have to ask…" The ex-empire gave the boy his full attention, prompting him to go on with a nod. "What happens when you, ya know, look at a map?" There was a moment of confusion before his brother got the gist of the question.

"Dean!"

"WHAT? I mean, is it like looking at a pin-up? What about travel brochures? Like the full color ones." There was an expectant smirk on the man's face as he stared.

England was thoroughly perplexed one moment, then the entire spectrum of red crept across his face. He had never thought about it like that. As a pirate, he had looked over sepia maps without any other thought than wind and currents. Now he realized, as this boy was saying, he had actually, in some perverse way, been staring at the exposed masses that were his friends.

An uncomfortable shiver went up his back.

"N-no! I mean…Looking at something like that….There is no difference in that or me going in, say, America and Canada, seeing it firsthand."

"Can we not say 'Going in America and Canada' …or any country…ever again."

Somehow, the Brit managed to find a new shade of red to turn.

Before the situation could become any more awkward, the sound of an engine revving could be heard outside.

Arthur was out of his seat and halfway to the door before the sound died.

From the living room, there was a loud _smack_, followed by an indignant yelp.

* * *

Opening the door, the first thing Arthur noticed was the American who was nearly at the porch, hands full with more than the two bags draped over his arms. A white entity was enveloped in his strong arms, his mouth whispering soft words into the furry object. Grimacing, the older nation knew exactly what it was.

"They had just pulled up when I got here." Alfred flashed him a sad smile as he passed into the warm house, intending to find yet another change of clothes due to his lack of forethought on taking a bike right after a rainstorm.

Once America wasn't blocking the way, an older grey Benz was now noticeable, parked beside the Impala. A blonde was shutting the trunk with an armful of brown bags.

"Mr. England!" The nation was suddenly grabbed around the waist by a brunette Italian. Stumbling a step, he had his work cut out for him to keep his balance.

"Ge—" He was about to remove the little country from his person, until he noticed the trembling.

"Germany said Canada is missing. I'm sorry! We'll find him. I'll make pasta and it'll be so good he'll wanna come back home and—"

"Italia. Don't stand in the doorway."

"Okay." England was released and allowed the sniffling man to head inside.

"Es tut mir leid. He's a bit…"

"It's alright. I guess I should thank you. I suppose you are the one who took care of _him_?"

There was a slight dusting of color on the German's cheeks. "Well, he was left in the meeting room and mein bruder is good with small animals, so I figured…"

"Well, thank you anyways." He motioned for the other to come in as he shut out the cool night air.

* * *

"What the hell is that?" America let out a hearty laugh. He didn't think there was anyone faster at retreating than the Italians. This guy could have probably given them some competition.

"It's Mattie's pet – Say 'hi' Kumajirou!" The bear sat in silence, eyes flicking around as he looked for his owner. When he didn't even catch a whiff of his scent, the cub began to wriggle until the American sat him down, letting him wonder wherever he wanted.

"Dude! That's a friggen' polar bear! That can't be legal!" He stood, both feet planted on the couch cushion, his own brother was snickering at his discomfort, though Sam did stiffen when the source of that distress came to sniff his pant leg.

Those dark eyes seemed about ready to cry though and within seconds all anxiety disappeared, his large hand had a mind of its own and scratched the bear behind the ear.

"Sammy! Don't touch it! It's going to eat you."

A conspicuous cough caught the attention of two humans, one nation, and one content cub.

"I'm to assume diese are z'e boys you vere telling me about?" The thick German accent caused both the mentioned humans to forget about the bear cub.

In front of them was the prime example of a _man._ Damn! Did he even lift? How the hell did he get muscles like that? Something about him just screamed discipline.

God. They hopped they were wrong in their guess of who he was.

After all, German was spoken in lots of countries, right. Or he could just be some random person who enjoyed dressing the part of a military maniac.

That didn't mean he was-

"Yes. Dean, Sam. This is…" He looked at the blonde for approval before continuing. "Germany."

_Shit._

"You may call me Ludvig if you wish."

"And I'm Italy! Oh but you can call me Feliciano…or Feli. I hear American's have a hard time with long names, so Feli is fine. Germany call's me that sometimes. You know and-"

The brothers were unprepared for the sun-kissed whirlwind that had darted out of the kitchen during the introductions. It stood in front of them, hands accenting his every word with a different motion each time. There was a look of pity on two of the nations face while another was leaning against the wall, clutching his sides.

"-Ah! La mia pasta!"

As soon as it was here, it was gone.

They could only deadpan, unable to make any emotions come to their faces. They were stuck in a house with an idiotic superpower, a fatherly ex-nation, and two parts of the Axis, both of which frightened them, though in different ways…not to mention a polar bear cub that was now gnawing at the American's hand, demanding food.

Oh. So the bear could talk.

Ok.

But wait there's more!

The day wasn't over yet as it was only just after ten. They still had two hours left before the clock struck twelve and the magic disappeared. They could only hope they would wake up in the hotel room, with Dean munching on tacos while Sam yelled about responsibilities.

* * *

Finally getting everyone settled, with Italy and Kuma taking care of the kitchen, the remainder of the occupants found seats around the coffee table, all sitting solemnly as Arthur explained everything from the start.

"I have never heard of such a thing." Germany was the first to speak up, keeping a cool façade despite the knots twisting in his stomach.

"That's what I said, but we've seen it firsthand." Arthur made a quick glance towards the Winchesters and his former colony, who only nodded along.

Germany seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.

"und mein bruder…"

"Found out about an hour ago. Probably breaking every law to get here faster."

"_Gut_. He might be of some help." Though he wasn't exactly thrilled at the thought of his brother speeding in his new car, but now wasn't the time.

"Wait. You called in more people-nations? Is that really a good idea? I mean, it ups the liability factor." Sam interjected.

"Sammie's right. I mean, no offense, but we've been doing this long enough to know that a crowd is usually a pretty bad idea." He gave the bag in the center of the table a good pat. "This has everything we need to take care of things."

England stared at him with callous eyes.

"We are talking about a man who delegated his bloody way to independence. Yet as a youth he fought his brother in a war that wasn't really his." America gave the floor a good staredown. "He was called into two Great Wars without warning and still managed to be called a genius on the battlefield while instilling the Devil into the hearts of every German." There was a notable twitch from a different one of the blondes. "This man carries a spine made of the Rockies, skin thick as tundra ice, and the blood of millions propelling like Niagara... And now he has that...that… _Hellion_ controlling him? Lad, we are going to need more than the Grace of God and Queen for this."

They could only gape as the words sunk in. Regardless of appearance, this was a _country_ they were against.

"What do you guys have in mind then?"

The countries could only look at each other, lost. That was the problem right there. No one knew what to do.

Alfred began chewing on his lip, worry blatant now as his twin's plight seemed to get worse and the severity sunk deeper into his thick skin.

"Let's eat first, 'kay!"

Everyone turned to see a smiling Italian balancing numerous plates like a professional waiter.

* * *

Because I needed Prussia...actually he has a part xD  
This was mostly written in my head while grocery shopping.  
I have a Note II, so I ended up blocking the Spaghetti-Os for ten minutes or so while I scribbled notes on my virtual pad.

Translations T_T  
Geht scho! Woki mit deim Popo, Woki mit deim! Woki mit deim Popo, wei wos i wü bist du[AUS/GER]| Come on! Shake your booty...cause what I want it you. {Lyrics: Trackshittaz| Woki Mit Deim Popo...because I imagine Prussia making fun of Austrian rap}  
Espagne[FR]| Spain  
dumm Französisch[GER]| Dumb French  
Bonsoir[FR]| Good Evening  
Matthieu? Qu'est-ce que tu fais, enfant?[FR]| Matthew? What the hell are you doing, child?  
Je voulais te voir ... et vous permet me rejoindre.[FR]| I wanted to see you...and allow you to join me.  
die Hölle![GER]| The hell?  
Allez[FR]| Come.  
Teufels Schlampe[GER]| Devil's Bitch  
Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio...[LAT]| We exorcise you, every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion... {From the Rituale Romanum}  
Scheißkerl[GER]| Motherfucker..would be a good translation.  
Es tut mir leid.[GER]| I'm sorry  
Gut[GER]| Good

I need to stop with other languages..  
Oh and accents...let's not get started on those.

Sorry


	6. New World Order

The clock in the foyer flashed fifteen after two. Plates had long since been emptied and put away. Normally, it would be a nice time for a warm beverage and a good book while curled up in bed.

A certain house, however, was becoming a hot-spot of international turmoil.

A British gentleman was arguing his point, needing the comfort of some sort of plan before he attempted to retire.

An American hot head wanted nothing more than to storm the Canadian borders, ready to overturn every maple leaf until they found the target.

Two other American's continually refuted his statements with disbelief that anyone would suggest them in the first place, restoring some faith in the rest of the room for the U.S. of A.

A German was mentally banging his head against the table.

All the while, the little Italian was curled up beside the blonde on the couch, napping peacefully with a full stomach.

The nations were eerily at ease with this scenario, as if they were used to it.

"Da' Hero jus' needs ta go an' get Maddie! Ya'll 'er jus' makin' dis harder da'n it needs ta be!" There was a pause as the sound of skin hitting skin resounded. All eyes on the American who now had a hand over his mouth, wide eyed.

Removing his hand, he gave an uncomfortable smile, uncharacteristically excusing himself to go check on Kuma.

Everyone now shifted to the Brit, who sipped at his tea pitifully.

"Why did America just become… _'Murica_?"

The nation sighed. "It's part of his culture too, you know…but I haven't heard him speak like that since the Cold War. It sort of jumps out when he's overly stressed. Don't pay it much mind." Of course, it was obvious he was _minding_ it. His expression was letting on more than his words.

Well, now one of the leading superpowers was having a panic attack. Great. That was exactly what they needed.

Germany was about to suggest they sleep on their ideas when a sound caught his attention. It was mechanical, a car, but it sounded like it was being pushed to its limits. His brow furrowed together for a moment as he felt he was forgetting something.

It seemed the others heard the noise as well, the Winchesters grabbing for the black bag and Arthur setting his tea down for the first time in a while.

Suddenly the racket was gone, replaced by an ear splitting screech that made everyone's blood run cold, waking the Italian who instantly turned into a fidgety mess around the German's waist.

The brothers darted towards the door, careful of the salt arch around the entrance, at the ready with their shotguns.

There was a stream of high pitched squeals from the other side of the door. At some points, they could have sworn there was English in there, but the rest sounded like some sort of banshee's rant. Unfortunately, it was getting closer.

Feliciano tilted his head, putting a stop to his wailing, suddenly gaining a bright smile. "Ve! I think that's-"

Doing a mental countdown, conveying his thoughts with his eyes, Dean swung the door open, his brother playing backup.

At the end of their barrel was anything but a spirit. Instead, it was a near carbon copy of Feliciano. Same height, being just a bit shorter than Dean, much scrawnier as well. His clothes were different, seeing how his shirt was black, but their style was similar. The only difference they could immediately see was a darker shade of hair and the way it was styled. Was that curl a fashion statement in Italy?

"Shapeshifter." Dean hissed, having a personal grudge against the things.

The said creature was stock still in fear for a moment, alarm making movements impossible, but it quickly diverted his energy to another, more vocal, endeavor.

His personal favorite in fact.

"Get those goddamned things out of my face before I dropkick your ass into a new pair of cement shoes. Cazzo! I'm not in the mood to deal with you motherfuckers." He appraised the boys for only an instant, finding _something _or other to sneer at. With that, the brunette knocked the barrels to a different angle with his forearm, ducking around them to walk into the house as if it were his own.

"Fratello!"

"Wha-Vene….WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE!"

The milder of the two was taken back a bit by the shout, but quickly recovered. "You need a hug?"

"No I don't—Get the fuck off me! I don't need this shit right now! –You! Potato bastard! Why is he here?!"

Germany simply pinched the bridge of his nose. _Fuck his life._

The boys were left gaping like beached fish while the scene continued to play out in front of them. Last time they checked, shifters mimicked their prey.

That was the opposite of mimicking.

Arthur walked in to mediate, gently putting a hand on the length of Dean's poised weapon.

"It's okay. He's one of us."

_One of us?_

So that foul mouthed delinquent was a nation too?

For a moment, the Winchesters exchanged a look, unsure if they should be happy about that.

"Ohonhon. L'Angleterre. 'ave you been telling things you shouldn't?"

The Brit lashed around, his demeanor changing so fast it nearly gave those around him whiplash.

"Frog!" He hissed, "What have you been—" Any other words he was about to voice died in his throat as he noticed the reddening around his old acquaintance's eyes, the slightly disheveled look the prim man now sported.

"I suppose z'hese boys know our …_situation,_ non?" With a nod from Arthur, he gave his introductions. "Ah. Magnifique. I am Francis or France…" He finished with a little flourish and a wink, sending their stomachs to the floor.

Not in a 'giddy-school-girl' kind of drop.

More of a 'lets-stay-in-a-well-lit-room' sort of feeling.

Who the hell wore clothes like that?

Jeans were _NOT_ meant to be that tight. The white button up was fine but…

Was that a bow in his man-hair-should-not-be-that-fine hair?

"Fratello! How did you get here?"

"Why, on mon lap, of course!"

"Shut your face, frog lips! It's not my fault that damn car only had-a two seats!"

_Two seater car?_

That meant there was one more person.

The realization hit Ludwig with the force of an atomic bomb.

"Ja! You left me vith z'e bag. Arschlöcher!"

Well, he _had _mentionedsaid he wanted his brother's help.

He just didn't really want his_ brother_ right now.

And how did he even get here that fast?

…never mind.

* * *

In the doorway suddenly stood the palest man the boys had ever meet.

This coming from men who lived chasing ghosts and burning the dead.

However, those eyes were what sent Dean back a few steps.

"Oh _fucking_ shit!"

Okay. Maybe more than a few steps.

Black eyes, he could do.

Red just freaked him out.

And was that a baby chicken in his hair?

"Eloquently put, Dean." Arthur noted as he raised a brow.

"Kesesese! Z'ey can't handle z'e Awesome z'at isht mein!" He jeered, slinging a small grey travel bag over his shoulder.

That accent was all too familiar.

"Bruder… Behave, bitte." Germany was already making calculations to the amount of aspirin he would need by the end of the night.

Bruder? _Brother?_

This guy was related to that one?

Dean's brain was not comprehending the genetic possibilities.

Back up. They were nations, so technically they weren't-

Rewind….Arthur had said something about the Italians and Germans being _really_ related.

So both pairs of '_really related'_ just met up.

In other word, somehow Schwarzenegger and Jack Frost were really_ brothers_.

Well fuck you too logic.

The noise was picking up as the one unhindered nation quietly shut the door before anyone heard them.

The next house was a good ten miles away, but he wouldn't chance it.

"Ah! Papa! Comment allez-vous?"

Arthur froze, hand just having left the handle. That voice was too loud to be him.

But it was the same.

But he couldn't

But who else spoke French?

Of course, he didn't notice the horrible pronunciation that had caused France to flinch a bit before nudging further into the house to envelop the man who had just come down the stairs due to the noise. In his arms hung a bear cub, his glasses slightly askew as if they had been put on in a hurry.

Arthur had to shake his head to rid himself of the image that tried to overlap. Even without the bomber, that was Alfred, or so he had to tell himself that.

"Ah, mon garcon."

"Alfred, What the-"

"Louisiana." The tall nation sputtered out over the man's shoulder.

Britain sighed. He really didn't need another of his boys affected by the French menace.

Attempting to change the subject, Arthur turned slightly to suggest something when he noticed the two human boys looking at him with something he couldn't quiet put his finger on.

Now. Dean was an attentive man. Sammie was more so.

Yet, both of them had focused on one word, missing the rest of the conversation.

_Papa._

Insert over-thinking here.

Sam was curious. At the same time, he didn't want to know. Though he really did.

"Wait. I thought Arthur was your 'dad'."

Or he could just wait for Dean to make an ass of himself. Yeah. That worked too.

France seemed taken aback that Mr. Stiff-Upper-Lip had let those boy be privy to something like that.

Well, this was going to be fun.

Sliding into a comfortable grin, the man slithered away from his son, over to the British man before he could formulate a logical response.

"Oui. He is Daddy and I zhe _Papa_." He draped an arm around England's waist at this.

Dean turned to Alfred with the grimmest of expressions. "Dude, I'm going to need a few gallons of bleach now."

"Oh mon- OW! OW! MERDE!"

"Please don't cause misconceptions or I will kick you out." The English man had the skin of the back of Francis' hand in a vice-grip between his thumb and index as he removed it from his person.

Romano, having finally wriggled out of his brother's grip, was becoming irate at the spectacle.

"Are you dumb-fucks done yet? We have shit to do and I don't want to be here any longer than I have to. I feel I'm gaining fat and losing intelligence just breathing American air." He snapped, motioning for a highly amused albino to follow him.

Surprisingly, he obeyed without question.

Dumping their own bag beside the one already on the coffee table, they wasted little time pulling out a few of the contents.

With more force than was really needed, Romano sat three containers on the table. They were identical, all unadorned metallic cylinders a bit wider than a coke can, about a foot in height. From the sounds it made, there was liquid in each of them, but something clacked against the bottom as well.

Dean was about to grab one, but was shot a glare that made him retract his hand.

"This shit took a lot of pull to get, so don't touch."

"What is it?" Sam glared at his brother, a certain German was looking at him in empathy.

"Holy water-"

There was a huff of air "Look here Luigi," Dean pulled out a water bottle of his own, shaking it for good measure. "We have our own." This kid just rubbed him wrong and he made it his duty to return the favor.

Well, there went the 'let's not piss off an entire country on this job' plan.

Romano attempted to be the first to ever combust a human with thought.

Damn. Almost. He was right there. He could _feel_ it.

Grabbing the bottle from the man, the Italy removed the cap, allowing some of the water to flow into his hand, not caring about the fact that it slipped between his fingers just as fast. It wasn't like this was his house.

"You made that shit yourself." Gilbert had yet to stop sniggering beside him. The lid was replaced and the bottle returned with a toss.

"Yes I did." Dean said with a satisfied tone, catching his work.

"That wasn't a question or a compliment, dumbass. Interrupt me again and you'll get a face full of lead. –This is Holy water pulled from The Jordan, blessed by the Pope, stored in the silver from melted artifacts acquired in San Pietro in Vaticano, with an Iron cross wrapped in the fabric of the Teutonic Knights soaking in each of them ….for good measure. In other words, Hell on earth for any demoni. " He gave a superior look toward the pathetic bottle that Dean had tucked back into his jacket, who was mumbling something about 'overachievers'.

"So zhat is where you sent Espagne?"

"Yeah. I…" Romano trailed off for a moment as his lips pressed together hard enough for them to go white. He gave a quick glance to his twin, but their eyes refused to meet. "I noticed something was wrong with Canada in the meeting, but I didn't say anything. I figured I could take care of it before the fucking thing cause a problem. This thing is a serious hard-ass if he can take a nation, so this" He motioned towards the bags. "-is nothing."

More items were unloaded. The newcomers had also brought the basics or salts and iron as well, though maybe a bit more formal in appearance than what the Winchesters used.

When they unloaded their larger bag, Romano seemed a bit disgusted at the crude methods they used while Prussia looked on with great interest {read: touched everything the boys brought out, asking how/what/when/why and a string of 'awesomes'}. His favorite being the guns, which had nearly everyone on edge till the boys noted that it was loaded with salt blanks. There was mentions of what each item worked best for, earning a surprised yelp from a certain bear-gripping nation when Spirits were mentioned.

The knife was a touchy subject, but Dean finally laid it on the table, only to have it instantly scooped up by the half-nation for careful scrutiny.

"Has… this happened before?" Sam asked the unanswered question.

"Z'is? Nein. Z'e cases are alvays small, z'o I can't answer z'at, but…z'hings….do happen." The ex-nation's mood suddenly dropped, putting his new toy back on the table.

"Russia apparently had a run in with a nasty creep right after the Middle Age. We know how that bastard turn out." Every attending nation flinched back at the words. 'Matthew would not end up like that' was the communal thought. "It should be fucking impossible for a nation to be possessed unless a large majority of the population was. Last time I checked, the churches were still standing there.

The humans felt a bit left out now, not knowing anything about the workings of the other nations.

"Vat does zis…z'hing vant vith Kanada anyvay? Ludwig was still trying to wrap his head around the situation. He was a younger country, not having to live through the darkest ages of history, but having grown up in a more modern setting.

Dean piped up, finding his place in the conversation. "Why wouldn't he? Demons just want another notch in their homicidal bedposts. My guess is it figured that an entire country worth would have bragging rights in Hell."

A quiet fell over the group as the implications seeped through that statement.

"So….how did you manage to get …these?" The taller brother looked towards the containers. Nations or not, he suspected breaking into the Vatican wasn't exactly something they could label as easy. Pull or not.

And fabric that dated to the Teutonic age? Where the hell could you even find something like that? Legitimate Iron Crosses themselves were hard enough to find, having Germany on your side helped, but anything else….

The two in question looked perplexed, as if the answer was obvious.

"Ah!" France was perceptive of the problem. "Désolé. Let moi introduce you properly." He began to motion to the respective bodies. "Zhis is Romano or Lo-"The human name died in his throat as he was sent a murderous stare. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Umm..Oui. Romano, representative of South Italy, including zhe Rome area…zhis is-"

"Z'e most Awesome of nations ever! Be grateful to be in z'e presence of Preuße greatness!"

* * *

Maybe he should cut _his_ hair. It was irritating. It kept flying around all soft and fluttery. This was supposed to be a man's body!

Though it would be a shame to cut it. What a difficult decision.

_That's all fine and dandy, but can I have my body back now? _The voice was pained, despite the strength that was forcefully injected.

_What do you think?_

_I'm sorry. Let me rephrase that. Get the hell out of me, freaky bitch!_

_Oh my Canada! What would your parent say if they heard you talk like that….oh wait._ A physical smile played on the body.

There was a mental flinch as Matthew remembered his run in's with both his previous caretakers. Both times, he had fought so hard to speak to them, to try and wrest control back. Both times he failed.

In addition, he was subjected to _that_.

He was supposed to be strong, but once was enough. Twice was maddening, but now it was on replay the moment he let his guard down. Any moment of weakness was taken and ripped into him, wearing him down further.

If he hadn't lost his mind in the first place, he was getting pretty close now.

_Aren't you done with me yet? Isn't Canada a bit colder than what you are used to?_

_…I think you know the answer to that, dear._

He did.

He knew exactly what she was planning.

God have mercy.

There was a gruff cough that broke through the private war. Violet eyes lazily trailed across the floor, landing on the desk in front of him. _Jacob Carter_ was carved into a marble stone. Behind it sat a rather stocky man with his hands folded pensively. The well-kept auburn hair of his seemed nearly red in the florescent lights. Finally, those eyes stared directly into his brown ones, not afraid of the direct contact.

The body of Canada moved to settle more comfortably into the leather couch.

"I would appreciate it if you would focus. This is fairly serious you know."

"Oh but of course. After all, you needed _me_."

"Yes, and I am grateful you have kept your end, but we are not done yet."

A rolling chuckle came from the blonde. His eyes alight with something beyond an explainable joy.

The husky man raised a questioning brow.

"Our little Matthew has a few choice phrases for you, Carter. Would you like to hear?"

The smile dropped from his face as the opposing man shook his head. He had hoped to be able to repeat such a creative use of a hockey stick. That one would definitely be one for the books.

There was a slightly guilty look on the human's face.

Too late for cold feet.

With a sigh, the other man continued. He had started getting used to the oddities after the first day. "Well. I will start working in the PM. I need you to stay out of trouble, preferably out of the country. You aren't exactly the best at acting the part."

There was a pout on the nation's face. Two itsy bitsy failures and he was treated like this?

The other man wasn't thinking of tiny mistakes in persuading the other nations. Instead, he was remembering the meeting room that had been loitered, a now mentally unstable secretary, and the three bodies that had required an exhausting amount of repute to have covered.

"You want Canada…out of Canada?" His forehead scrunched in mock confusion.

"Preferably…But I know you won't listen to me." This brought that smile back. The human was learning. "So, instead, I have brought in someone to watch you for now."

"You got me a babysitter?"

There was a gap.

"I want to refute that, but I can't….this man is one of mine and as per our deal-"

"I can't touch him. Yeah yeah…" _Well fuck_

_What? Didn't get off on killing my other citizens?_

_Nope. I think you would have known. After all, you can still feel everything._

_Oh, fuck off._

_Maybe I will…._

There was a sick feeling for a moment. He was trapped in his own body, forced to experience everything as long as he kept his mental concentration. He wanted nothing more than to just slip into some dark corner and wallow in self-pity, but he knew what happened the moment he did that.

The images were so vivid, the pain as crisp and sharp as the day it happened. At first it was just a simple ache as he experienced that event that he often pushed aside. The first Treaty of Paris. But now, it was more than that. Every time he let himself relax, he was forced to undergo various events as if they were happening live. Halifax. The World Wars. 1812…even Black Friday of 87' all played in fast forward as if trying to fit in as many agonizing moments as possible before he managed to regain mental control.

He was exhausted from fighting it.

He was terrified of letting it win.

Matthew knew couldn't take another round of that.

_It_ knew how close he was to breaking.

"-in just a moment."

"Huh? Did I miss something?"

Jacob scoffed. "I said he will be here in just a moment...try to be nice. I have to leave to make my appointment."

"Okay Papa. Don't forget to bring home a souvenir!"

He shudder as the unnervingly sweet voice. Canada had always had a fairly soft voice, but it never sounded like this. It was almost like another northern nation he'd rather not deal with.

Jumping at a light knock on the door, Mr. Carter took to his feet, grabbing his briefcase before marching off to open it.

There was an ominous feeling pricking the back of the Canadian's neck, it irritated him. Made him want to pick on someone.

"Matthew says Emily would be so _proud_."

The brown haired man stopped dead, swallowing hard.

"Who?" He asked as he swung the door fully open.

"He shouldn't be too much trouble. I have to leave now, so you two try to get along."

With that, he was off.

"Okay you. I have two rules. One: Don't get in my way. Two: Refer back to…Oh sweet polka dancing Lucifer. This is going to be fun."

* * *

The house smelled of fruit and bread. It's was sickening to the Prussian on stomped down to the kitchen. His stomach couldn't take it. Sleep had eluded him all night. Sure, he had went into his designated room when they finally broke up, mind you it want till nearly four in the morning, but he simply locked the door and continually played the new channels on his phone as he rechecked his equipment over and over.

So sweets and sugar were out. He needed something stout and strong. Manly!

The little chick on his shoulder seemed to read his feelings and chirped a little deeper than normal.

Bursting into the kitchen, he found his best friend cooking with flourish, even though there was no one around.

"Morgen..." He tossed a mumbled greeting as he began raiding the American's cabinets for a mug so he could seize that pot of coffee that was still brewing.

"Bon matin. Sleep well?" The French man quirked as he tossed a new plate onto the growing feast.

Gilbert had a short victory whoop as he located his target, filling the cup with the dark liquid as the machine hissed in displeasure. "Ja. Du?"

The cook only hummed a moment before finally looking at the German with an accusing look. "Mentir. I could 'ear CTV all night."

There was a dry laugh. "Und du managed to make all z'is in.." He looked at the clock. It was nearing seven. "less z'an drei hours?" The fact that the American's pantry had been empty coupled with the massive amounts of homemade foods that littered the tabled, it was a solid argument.

Francis simply smiled his defeat and the two of them left it alone.

"Hé? About what …it said."

"Z'e Saukerl better have been lying."

There was a clatter as a spatula hit the counter. "And if 'e wasn't?"

He received no answer for that, just a grim looking Prussian.

Gilbert stared into his drink, thinking back to what the demon had mentioned before he disappeared. About what was going on in that pretty little head of his. He didn't want to believe it, but the chances were…

Even if it were true, his Mattie was stronger than that. He wouldn't lose himself to the past.

He couldn't!

Still, knowing the pain a nation was put through during a tragedy, the ex-country wanted nothing more than to have that thing out of his Canadian.

They were gifted about thirty minutes of silent company as breakfast was finished up and they prepared to gather everyone, some of which they figured were awake already since they had heard the soft mumble of news from the other room.

A shout from the living room almost caused the coffee to drench the floor. Both men glanced at each other before taking off in that direction.

"-be more careful!"

"The DOW is fine! They just took a hit because of my injuries yesterday.

"…and Nasdaq is too? These are important, Alfred!"

The taller nation huffed, slinking back down into a couch and curling up with a white ball of fluff as he trained his eyes on the T.V. Local news stations continued debates about America's sudden economic drop, hoping to find some sort of explanation through drawn out debates. For once in his life, he really didn't give a damn about his own country. He was waiting for them to switch to International news.

Arthur gave up his ranting for scowling at the man.

Prussia and France managed to wind down, their mini-heart attacks now turned to slight irritation.

One returned to the kitchen while the other began nursing the coffee once more. They weren't alone here. It seemed everyone, including the Winchesters, were gathered around the T.V.

Scratch that. Romano was missing. Probably taking his 'after waking up' siesta.

Sam and Ludwig were sectioned off, trying to dig up information through Sam's laptop.

Alfred and Dean were now watching the screen, trying to find something that would give them a clue as to what their next move was. Dean of course, finding this all so fascinating, was multi-tasking by asking various questions of the Italian next to him. Many of them far too _personal_, but the oblivious nation paid no mind as he answered them without hesitation.

There was a _bang_ from upstairs, causing everyone to stop their activities.

Various forms of curious faces waited anxiously as they heard the heavy footsteps of someone running down the stairs.

Romano dashed into the room, glaring daggers at the telly.

"You stupid fucks!" He grabbed the remote, changing the channels rapidly.

"Oi. What the hell, Dude!" Alfred was tempted to strangle the Italian. If he wanted to watch cartoon, he should do it upstairs.

The flicking on the screen suddenly stopped as he found the channel he wanted. CNN played 'live' feed to the station, a red bar flashing information across the bottom.

Various views shot from helicopters. Below, small fires sprung up as people marched in the streets. No matter their province or affiliation, every scene was the same.

_Live from Canada. Riots in across the map. Demanding instant government reformation._

* * *

**Head cannons...head cannons ****_EVERYWHERE_****...sorry.**

**Btw. I hate this chapter with more passion than a Spanish lover. UGH! Two days of wracking my brain and research and this is all I can manage. The end is kinda rushed because ..****_. .done. _****I kept finding plot hole, fixing them, finding new ones...Then I would forget someone was there and need to write in a part and...-facepalm- There probably are still problems, but...I tried. Give me points for the attempt.**

**Anywho. Hopefully this will be better by next chapter.**

**And for those wondering about Cas. Why yes, he's in this. I couldn't just leave him out. Though he wont be the 'End all be all heroic savior'**

**Translantions:**

**"Da' Hero jus' needs ta go an' get Maddie! Ya'll 'er jus' makin' dis harder da'n it needs ta be[SoUSA]| The Hero just needs to go and get Mattie. You guys are just making this harder than it needs to be. -because I know people can't understand us sometimes-**

**Cazzo[ITA]| Shit or Fuck**

**Arschlöcher[GER]| Assholes**

**Bitte[GER]| Please**

**Ah! Papa! Comment allez-vous[FR]| Ah! Papa! How are you?**

**Mon garcon[FR]| My son**

**Saukerl[GER]| Bastard or Sod**

**Things:**

**The Jordan: Jordan river...where Jesus was said to be baptized.**

**San Pietro in Vaticano: St. Peter's Basilica, a church in Vatican City.**

**'Russia apparently had a run in with a nasty creep right after the Middle Age': Referring to right around the time when the Tsardom of Russia was formed, Ivan the Terrible gained power.**

**I get that there is a good possibility that differences in Holy Water don't exactly exist...but...IDGAF :D**


	7. Pep Talks

**I wouldn't say this is filler, but, not a lot of plot...kinda...sorta**

**I wanted a feelz chapter okay?!**

**Sorry T_T**

* * *

They only spent a mere five minutes watching as the riots grew before their eyes. Sam and Dean had seen enough to realize this was getting out of hand …fast.

While the others were glued to the screen, various forms of emotions showing as they watched their fellow country literally collapsing from the inside, Dean moved to whisper hastily at his brother, the two of them considering their options.

According to the announcements, though the riots were becoming severe all across the country, the worst seemed centered around Slater Street in Ottawa, which seemed to be a random location until Alfred, mumbling through his palm, mentioned Matthew had an apartment there, as it was close to his Parliament buildings.

Well, that pretty much answered _where_ the nation was.

Demons usually attracted the brunt of whatever_ bad_ they managed to stir up.

With every image of a lit Molotov or shattered pane, the surrounding nations flinched. Pained groans were released when the mounted police drew Tasers while the bodies of their equine companions blocked the road. The boys didn't fully understand the severe implications of a government upheaval to a Nation, but from the reactions of those around them and the common sense they prided themselves on, they suspected it wasn't good. They needed to finish this, soon.

After a few minutes of coaxing the nations away, they managed to come to a unanimous decision the moment Sam suggested it.

They had to get to Canada, both land and person.

France managed to pull himself together in a semblance of his normal self, ushering everyone to at least have a bit to eat, managing when they realized they would be less useful with ragged bodies. Dean managed to find the right moment to complain about expecting to try French fries, earning himself a smack on the back of his head.

"We'll start making some charms to make sure no one else is possessed." The older of the brothers dumped his plate into the sink." This thing might have phoned home for some help."

"Just do it right, bastards. I'm not helping if you fuck this up." With that, Romano left them to deal with it, not willing to fight about it further. Despite popular belief, he hadn't had a siesta today. In fact, his sleep schedule had been non-existent since the meeting. He had just been better at hiding it.

"Adorable, isn't he?" This garnered a few forced chuckled from those around him. Dean was slowly getting used to the feisty Italian, but that didn't mean he liked him.

"How long do you think it will be before you're ready to leave, boys?" Arthur looked at them with tired eyes.

The two of them seemed to do calculations in their heads. "An hour or so if we're lucky."

A nod was the only confirmation they got.

"Before we split, we'll make sure you guys can take care of yourselves so-"

"Wait? You guys aren't coming?" America jumped from his seat, a feeling of abandonment welling up.

Sam's hands went up in a pacifying gesture. "It's not like that. We would…we just-"

"I don't know if you noticed, Captain, but we aren't exactly the most law abiding of your citizens. Uncle Sam isn't exactly our best friend."

Alfred cocked his head to the side.

It was like kicking a crippled puppy, but Dean was about to just tell him that they weren't risking Federal prison for this. They had the Vatican on their side, were they really all that needed? However, he never got the chance.

"Alfred, we kinda can't go with you. I mean, it's hard enough for us to travel here. Internationally is-"

"Robbery, thief, breaking and entering, _suspected_ murder, impersonating a Federal agent…" They stared, one confused, one impressed, into expressionless blue eyes. Around them no one even flinched as the charges were read off systematically.

"Okay. When did you find that out?" Alfred just shrugged.

A harsh cackled cracked through the air. "Z'at's all? Unawesome!" He paused to look at them haughtily. "Und du forget who du are talking to."

A side glance revealed an impishly smiling American.

* * *

Everyone managed to break off into groups, an hour given to do as they pleased.

Dean and Sam were searching through things they had and a few artifacts they found throughout the house. They needed objects of religious importance, which, they themselves didn't have enough of. Alfred however, had a closet full of memories, each of them solidified with objects dating back to pre-colonization. He let them have free reign, welcome to anything that caught their interest. The boys had found many Native articles, a few in which suited their needs just perfectly. Ludwig was with them, helping by using Sam's laptop to identify a few items since the American had long since run off.

The two Italians had found themselves a corner window to sit by. Each of them talking in hushed tones, surprising for anyone who knew them. The southern side seemed his usual angry self, but there seemed to be more to it if the clenched way he spoke was anything to go on. The northern however was relatively somber, his face a bit downturned as he nodded slightly in tune with his brother's words.

The rest of the members had found other things to occupy their time. Thus Arthur found himself sitting straight as an iron rod on the porch step with a swiped cup, filled with his favorite beverage. The drink was suspended below his mouth, still as he stared out across the yard.

He faced a North-East direction, but had angled his body intuitively toward the North. Steam billowed around his face, the incense relaxing him ever so slightly. The Brit's mind was elsewhere though.

This was the first time, since the cruelty of the situation cropped up, that he had a semblance of seclusion. His mentality took notice of this, allowing it to creep out from the bog he had been in. Here, there wasn't an ex-colony, who required a constant eye. Nor was there a French prat who demanded a strong façade. Here, he could slip away from it all and truly reflect on the situation.

It was in no short of demand from him.

In less than twenty-four usually meaningless hours, he had found one of the people he deeply cared for was suffering in ways he couldn't imagine. Worse yet, he couldn't help. Wars, famine, or plague all had a cure, it was something they were all used to, expected. Somewhere, there would have been a solution and the man of Great Britain could have found it, sparing no expense.

However, this wasn't something physical or commonplace. This was supernatural, a force he was all too familiar with. It wasn't a magic he was used to and anything he knew seemed child's play in comparison to what the others were bringing to the table. Arthur figured it was his own continual changes in religious convictions that left him in this state. The Middle Ages had been his greatest achievements in demonic arts, but even that had fallen through.

The man could only wince as he remembered many failed attempts at exorcism and the genocides that they incurred.

A shudder racked through him as burnings, drowning, and a creative use of a donkey flashed in his mind. Nation or not, his methods were not to be used on his Canada, his Matthew.

The nation would be damned before he admitted it, but he loved his sons six ways to Norway, no matter how much they acted up.

That thought went for both of them.

Alfred was the first to come to mind when anyone thought bad of the North American twins. That was a given. No one could deny the brat had his way of pissing everyone off so well it could have been an Olympic sport. However, the larger of the nations had a way of getting under your skin so well it was an art form.

Snide remarks in a voice so low you almost had to question if they were made. Often, Arthur would return to his office only to be humbled as he realized that innocent quip was a sarcastic witticism that struck deep.

The boy knew what he was doing. Arthur had caught him once and that was all it took for him to realize this. Britain was one to avoid that side of his son if possible. Words, if used right, could cut a man apart, straight to his very foundation.

But Matthew wasn't one to do that.

Sure he was ornery little twat sometimes, but…well.

_Matthew was a passive aggressive little shit that he would do anything for._

Arthur sighed heavily through his nose.

He was now left with a mind full of unneeded thoughts and cold tea.

The creak of the door behind him caused his head to snap.

He didn't expect to see this person out so soon.

How long had he been lost in thought?

"Here." Sam stuck his hand out, in it a necklace with a small leather pouch attached.

Setting his tea down before standing, the nation took it wordlessly, nodding his thanks.

Sam turned to go back in, but paused, twisting himself back out, allowing the door to fall closed.

"We'll get him back."

Arthur's smirk was something containing centuries of sadness. "Son, I am well aware of the situation. Don't treat this old dog like he needs to be coddled."

The other grimaced, clenching his hands for a moment. "We'll do everything we can…" With that, he left the personification to his own devices once more.

"I know you will." He called to empty air.

Retrieving his discarded cup, he looked unimpressed at the liquid. It would be a sunny month in London before he wasted tea, so he bit the bullet and downed the cold brew as quick as he could before gathering his belongings.

His shoulders straightened and he forced his brows to relax, if only a little, as he reached to follow the boy in.

_Stiff upper lip..._

He would always tell his boys that, now it was his turn to receive the lecture. There were things to be done and he still had another past charge that he needed to keep in line.

His lips tightened at the thought.

They had been doing their best to keep their war paint from cracking, keeping each other positive, but the former empire knew signs when he saw them.

For one thing, _Texas_ wasn't that round.

* * *

Francis had managed to rope Gilbert into helping him clean up after breakfast.

It was painfully clear neither of them would take the time to catch up on sleep, and the Prussian had already ensured his arsenal the night before.

There wasn't that large of a mess to clean as the Frenchman had been cleaning dishes as he used them. It was just boring to do without company. Besides, the albino needed to learn of domestic chores if he ever wished to settle down….especially if he chose to settle down his petit fils.

Prussia would know the correct way to scrub a non-stick pan before he agreed to that!

_In other words_, France was worried about the other nation being alone with his thoughts.

In fact, he was kind of afraid of being alone with his _own_ thoughts.

"Mon ami…If you scrub like zhat, you will ruin zhe pan." The metal scrub was taken from the paler man.

"Che! Like I care. Z'is isht Amerika's anyvay!" The ex-nation grinned, his eyes and mouth telling different stories.

"Oui. But do you really want to anger your bride's shotgun crazy frère?"

Gilbert's lips twitched as he imagined himself appeasing and scraping to the crazy Amerikaner.

Not happening.

With that, he seized the steel wool once more and began scrubbing again, purposefully putting force into it now, much to the chagrin of his companion.

There was relative quiet for a good five minutes, making them both a bit uncomfortable. Earlier the silence had been welcomed. Now it created a hole in the atmosphere, filled only with the sloshing of water and the clink of china.

Even with France's best efforts and continued companionship, his friend still managed to wallow through the darker portions of his imagination. Unlike the blonde, Gilbert had a good grip on the idea of what Matthew was going through.

And what the possible options were.

This only furthered his daydreaming creativity. There were various scenarios. Each of them just as vivid as the last. The thing with the brain, however, is its continual want to fuck with you.

Got a history exam? Let me explain to you the length of a giraffes tongue in relation to the sun.

Need an excuse for why you are in the back seat with Farmer Bill's daughter? Oh…here's a case of the stutters…and lets redirect all that blood in a more southern direction, okay?

Your boyfriend has been taken over by the spawn of Satan and you need to calm your tits before you make a mistake in exorcising him? Let me show you every possible way you screw this up, emphasis on the horrific scenes of death because that's the best part. Oh! Did you see the way his body twitched!? You want some popcorn? I feel like popcorn.

Gilbert's face continually contorted into an ugly snarl, not be go unnoticed by his friend.

"Prusse?" No response.

Well that wasn't normal, coming from a man that practically demanded people kneel down and cry at the mention of his Awesomeness.

A damp gently hand was place on his body, causing a pan to clatter into the sink.

_Blink_

_Blinkblink_

_Blink_

"Franny…"

"Oui?"

"Pay up or lösen ihr hand from mein awesome vital regions!"

France grinned enthusiastically, receiving the same in return. They didn't need words to comfort each other. They ran out of phrases conquests ago. They didn't need pats on the back or long drawn out cries with each other anymore. Instead, they just needed to be themselves, keeping it together like they always had.

It was just one of them needed to be reminded.

* * *

After showing the Winchesters his old storage room, Alfred had retreated from the crowd. A few quick texts later and he was bounding up the stairs, taking himself to a guest room that often saw use. The door closed with a _click_ as he laid the glasses he wore on a side table along with a second and plopped himself on the bed, done with his part for now.

Normally, he would have helped them sift through the mess in which he was most knowledgeable about. Normally, he would have been gung-ho about being the hero, stomping around until everything was ready. Normally, he wouldn't be in a dark room where the ghosts could pop out at any time.

But here he was, defying _normally_.

He was curled up on himself, eyes closed without resting. America had learned one thing that was for sure. Mattie was terribly far-sighted, opposite of his near-sighted Texas. This had left him with a stinging headache.

The young nation wasn't sure when or why he had switched the two. It wasn't as if he shouldn't have noticed. It was Texas he would be forgetting after all. It was just that either pair felt had seemed _right_. The thought made him a bit sick to his stomach. He had switched glasses with his brother before, in jest, but Alfred had usually taken them off within a few minutes as they would feel awkward on his face.

_What was so different this time?_

His teeth ground together, attempting to put him in early dentures when he felt a soft touch to his leg.

Sitting up post haste, the blonde found his blue eyes meeting black. Below him was his brother's pet, ordering for attention.

"What's up, little dude?" He asked, pulling the cub into his lap as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed.

He received a wistful glace. "Who?"

"Silly. I'm Cana-" America's eyes went wide as he realized he was repeating the words he heard his brother say on one too many occasion. Hastily, he corrected himself with a little less gusto than he tried to portray. "I'm the hero!" A nervous laugh sprung up roughly as he tried to find the right words to continue with.

Chewing on his lip, the nation found himself in a position that was new territory for him.

He couldn't think of _anything_ to say

Giving the bear a tight hug, he dropped the animal on his bed, telling it to get some sleep. There was no argument as the furry creature drifted off before the American could shove his face into his hands.

He wouldn't cry, that was the least heroic thing _ever_, but small shudders crept along his shoulders as he forced himself to steady his breathing, with little progress.

Through the quivering, a small sound could be heard. It wasn't a laugh nor a sob. It was something in-between that was almost unnatural to him. In all his years, he had never heard a noise like that. The shock was enough to send him upright, sniffing and panting.

Though he was unsure of the things his body decided, a certain Englishman outside his door did.

Arthur had been poised to strike his fist against the oak door when he had heard every bit of the commotion inside.

_Despair. Anguish. Torment._

His free hand was covering his mouth as his green eyes long since fell closed, tightened enough to lock away suppressed feeling that threatened again.

_In and out old boy._

A few steadying breaths later, he managed to complete his task, rasping on the door with enough force to seem confident.

"Alfred? We should head down to the others now."

There was a suspenseful silence before shuffling came from behind the door, eventually swinging open to show a disheveled boy with his glasses, this time his own, on crooked and a Hollywood smile that wouldn't get past auditions.

"What?"

Arthur didn't realize he had been staring.

"N-nothing."

"Whatever. Just follow the hero and everything will be A-Okay!" Alfred pushed aside his father-figure, taking the lead.

"Bloody wanker!" The Brit clicked his tongue at the boy's rude behavior, but his anger couldn't hold as a wave of pity swept over him.

He'd definitely be keeping an eye on that one.

* * *

Black eyes scanned the wreckage below, ecstatic at the sight.

Cars flipped, small fires, broken glass. All the basic signs of a riot gone right. Thankfully this body he had kept a place so close to his main target. This way, he could watch the festivities from the comforts of his own home.

"It's a nice day for a walk, don't you think?" A frown crossed his face as he received no replies. "Maybe we should go on a date? A nice stroll by the Rivière des Outaouais, some ice-cream in the park, maybe toss a few bricks through the Commons."

Still nothing. Tough crowd.

A sigh escaped him, looking at his stoic brunette companion. No matter what he tried, he just couldn't get a rise out of the man. Oh well. He should have figured from the outfit he wore. What was he? Some sort of run of the mill accountant?

And trench coats were so twentieth century.

His other little buddy wasn't very vocal either.

Wasn't as surprising though. Little bugger had finally broken down a bit. The small pin pricks he felt over his skin caused his grin to grow wider, but poor little Matthew seemed to be a bit uncomfortable with the string of violent murders. _Odd_.

Needless to say, he didn't expect to hear from his host again until at least, oh…..around the fifteenth showing of World War Two.

* * *

**Lösen ihr[GER]| Remove/Detatch your**

**So I have Ethics, Morals, Ethnicity, and Japanese (three papers and a project, respectively) due before the first. A test Tuesday...and my brain imploded.**

**I wanted to get a chapter out that explained a little of what/why they aren't 'completely' freaking (like I would) at the situation.**

**I just didn't mean for it to be after the longest wait.**  
**So yes. After four days of no word...you get...this. 3 hours, half crazed, and a bottle of strawberry Zinfandel later.**

**At least I gave 'some' movement/hint at the end.**


	8. Till Death Do Us Part

Alfred tugged repetitively at a loose string on his blue and grey tartan shirt. The other hand was fingering the talisman he had retrieved from his storage room. It was carved from the horn of a white buffalo, shaped like a feather. The entire thing was about as long as his hand, half as wide, strung around his neck with a piece of leather. It was a charm that he remembered receiving long ago, blessed by the village shaman when he was nothing but a boy. It an old ward, a powerful one, and right now he wasn't letting it go for anything.

His eyes had taken a glassy look as his mouth mumbled nearly incoherent whispers. The sounds coming out in slurs, the actual pronunciation debatable. Every few words would suddenly jump in volume, creating a stuttered form of the sentences he was phrasing.

Arthur's eyes narrowed at the boy sitting beside him, forced into the confined space of the back of the Winchester's Impala. His mouth formed a thin line as he attempted to decipher more of the words, not too thrilled with his current assumption.

"…and for some spirits, even the smallest trace of blood has to be erased."

The British man was definitely regretting trying to make small talk with the brothers using the paranormal as a starter.

'How's the weather-Oh yes fine- No no. Oh I hear you chase spirits, fascinating, do tell' …so, maybe that wasn't the best kind of banter for getting their minds off things.

The boy's mumbling seemed to grow a bit more frantic, a bit louder, catching the attention of the younger brother who had taken it upon himself to answer the questions thoroughly.

"Is he alright?" He asked, pausing his explanations, which by now had been going on for a good fifteen minutes.

Arthur's face had twisted a bit into a pleasant smile that looked much more foreboding than any scowl he had thrown before.

"He's quite well. Just reminiscing. I do believe he was just at the part where he was telling me to bugger off due to….ah yes, 'plundering their seas'." Another minute or two and he would show the little twat what real pillaging was.

Sam listened closer, brows knitting and head cocked to the side as he turned to stare at the inarticulate blonde. It took a moment, but his eyes soon grew quite large as his training in law came forward.

"Is he reciting…." He stopped as the Brit's grin became painfully sharper.

"Seems you might have gone and struck a tick of his." There was false concern in that voice as he raised a soothing hand to the younger nations shoulder. A white knuckled, bone bruising, _soothing_ hand.

Dean took a moment, eyes shifting from the road to the rear-view, grin ever present. He licked his lips, enjoying the taste of this new information.

"Ya know. Sometimes, the ghosts don't die after we burn everything. There are a lot of places still haunted bec—"

"-THUS MARKED BY EVERY ACT WHICH MAY DEFINE A TYRANT IS UNFIT TO BE THE RULER OF A FREE PEOPLE-"

* * *

They had a plan. They were supposed to take two cars to Ottawa, packing in carefully, trying to as inconspicuous as possible. Nothing flashy and quiet as possible. It was a simple thing. The nations figured getting across would be the easiest of tasks. Once they crossed, they would be in Canada's territory, thus prepared to be on edge at all times. The demon was privy to all of Matthew's abilities, making sneaking around the country an impossible thing. At least for the nations. The Winchesters were America's citizens, wiping them off the radar in a foreign country. They would use that to their advantage. It wasn't perfect, but everyone had a role, a place to be. They_ had _a plan.

When a man plans, Prussia laughs.

So here they were, at the border, with three cars. Sam's forehead was well acquainted with the dash, just as Arthur's was with the tiny back window. A duo of laughs wracked through the other passengers. Dean was grinning, a breathy laugh had a hint of nervousness, unsure of whether to laugh more or start to cry. Alfred's had no such reservations. It was his full blow laugh that should have its own patent.

In front of them was one of those scenarios that no one thought to plan for.

Now. Most people don't know this, but the normal way of entering a country requires handing off paperwork, a few smiles, a stamp here or there, and a wave. Pussy shit! There was only one true way to really get the true experience of crossing a border. Than man's way! Make yourself known. Make the country grateful you were gracing them with your awesomeness. Full on Jesus-riding-a-raptor-in-a-Jedi-battle type of presence. Thus we had Gilbert, Ludwig's precious bruder, traveling idol of men everywhere, being held onto by the blonde, struggling against the bonds in an attempt to get at a brunette man. In a blue uniform. With handcuffs. And a taser.

Customs officers will never tell you, but they enjoy being assaulted in German after a long night of being attentive to their newborn child and post-labor wife during a country wide crises.

Especially during a country wide crisis.

In the Prussian's defense, the man was someone he knew well and this _was_ akin to a ritual of theirs.

"David! You dummen Ficker. Das war vor zwei Jahren! Not Awesome!" The thrashing seemed to pick up in tempo, egged on by the growing smirk on the officer's face. He needed this. It was like a good drag after a dry period. Anyone would after learning that your new child didn't sleep through nights and your wife was running off chocolate ice-cream and Vicodin. Oh god he needed this and _more_.

Oh right, he was also pulling a double because some of the officers had joined the Quebec insurrections.

Ludwig was pulling hard to get his bruder back into the shiny attention grabbing _unnecessary_ sports car, which he had driven despite the room that was left in the other two. Francis was passively throwing a few sedative words, still finding a bit of humor in the situation.

Behind them, the Italian twins were waiting in their own ways, having been in the German's Benz. North was cuddled into the passenger seat, waiting patiently as Ludwig had ordered. South was waiting. Just because the window was open, allowing his stream of curses to flow a bit more freely did not negate the fact that he wasn't staying. He was still _in _the car.

Noticing the attention that was being garnered from the surrounding officers, Arthur smacked the American upside his head, causing a grunt of pain. Of course, he didn't see the bets being made all around, this scene far too common when the albino came through via land.

"Get out there and fix this!" Sam was unbuckled and shuffling out the car before the Englishman was finished with his sentence, opening the way for Alfred to wiggle his way out from behind through the space between the seat and body. These backseats were not make for nations as tall as he.

Turning to give a lazy two-finger salute to his father figure, the blonde sauntered over, yelling a casual greeting to David with a lighthearted laugh and a question about the condition of his growing family.

x.x

_"…Mr. Williams, were you expecting company today?"_

* * *

It took nearly twenty minutes of pacifying and general conversation before they were on the road again. They had been given advice of some roads to avoid and the last known locations of the largest demonstrations.

Prussia, in the lead car, was mumbling insults that were outdated by a good two-hundred years as he started up his car. Following was his brother, blue eyes waiting for the car in front of him to move even an inch off the beaten path.

In the Impala, they had let the previous conversation drop, the two up front more curious about how they had passed through without so much as an inspection. From what they had seen, many people were being turned away at the gates. The border wasn't closed per say, but they weren't exactly inviting a tourist season.

Alfred scrunched his face in confusion. He figured that he being a _nation _would shed at least a little light on the situation. In fact, he expected it to be in large Vegas style lights accompanied by a Broadway musical number properly titled 'I Do What I Want….Bitch'. Then again, being a nation was all he knew.

"I told them you were my new sidekicks! We're on a mission to save Mattie from the Commonwealth, since that was the cause of all these rio-!" There was a loud smack and the Winchesters looked a bit uncomfortable. Not only had that excuse gotten them across an international border, no matter how lax the security usually was, but the fact that their country was probably serious about that statement.

"What was that for Artie?!"

"If you don't pipe down, I'm moving you to the car with the Italians." There was a completely _proper and_ manlyindignant huff that punctuated that. Still, the threat was a grave one. Everyone had a moment of silence for the poor German who was stuck with both of them for the remainder of the three hour drive.

Well, scratch that. Three hours was far too long for a certain man, whom may or may not be lacking skin pigmentation, who took a chance to maneuver himself as soon as the highway widened to two lanes, dropping back beside the black car, much to the confusion of anyone not Prussian. He would get them there faster, one way or another. Might as well make it worth the gas expenditures that their bosses would have the pleasure of paying off.

Rolling down his passenger window, Dean was prompted to do the same.

"Oi! Amerikaner. Dass junk isht not just for show, eh?" The Prussian was loud enough to shout over a grinning Frenchman and the sixty-five mile an hour winds. Well, one-hundred and four kilometer, now that they were out of the Imperial nation.

A tight lopsided grin caused his eye to twitch slightly.

"Dean." The tone was a warning. One that wasn't getting through. "No…"

Arthur seemed a bit confused at what was happening, but the American beside him seemed to forget the earlier threat, whooping and hollering loudly, encouraging the whole fiasco. It took only three seconds and over four hundred pounds of torque and the British man got the hint.

They _had _it all planned out.

* * *

They had some difficulty getting where they needed. The outskirts of Ottawa were fairly untouched, having mostly unremoved trash laying around, but inner city was another story. Each car had their radios tuned into local stations, trying to figure out the situation. As far as they could tell, the riots had lost some strength around one, mostly turning to sit-ins and other more peaceful forms. Still, when they passed a government building, they almost had to crawl to get by the masses that had gathered outside.

French and English phrases were shot off every few moments, Francis cringing when would hear something in his native tongue. For once, it wasn't because of the accent.

Just around two hours, one gas stop, and a near catastrophe involving a horse, the motley crew managed to pull up to the up to the high-rise in the heart of the capitol. People were clamoring nearby, but it seemed as though this area hadn't receive damage.

Dean let out a low whistle. The building was made of light material with perfectly attended windows. The man had stopped craning his neck after counting fifteen floors, not wanting to upset his eyes from the glare that the higher panes were reflecting. There was an internal pang of gratefulness for the fact that he wouldn't have to be sneaking around trying to find the right room.

"The five of them should be here any minute." Arthur mumbled, staring at a clock posted in a nearby square that read off two-fifty five. He was implying towards the fact that parking was limited around the building, thus they had managed to find somewhere near for the Impala, which held the equipment, while the other two vehicles circled around elsewhere for a place.

"Your brother lives in a hotel?" Sam was reading the sigh, displaying 'Minto Suites'.

Alfred scoffed. "Na'w man. He just stays here sometimes. He's got another place North of Fort Nelson, but even I get lost visiting him there…or…"

"-so big! Kinda ugly though. Ve~ Luddy! Do you think they will let me remodel it?! That would be nice."

The four waiting looked fairly confused until an exasperated Ludwig cut in.

"D'ey found z'e Italien Embassy." He pinched the bridge of his nose, staving off the headache that was threatening due to the block of high pitched excitement.

"Cazzo! Don't say that. Your filthy accent makes it sound stupid! Maple bastardo ha bisogno di imparare di architettura reale."

And then there was that one.

A pale arm snaked out, suddenly gripping the American in a headlock, forcing the blonde to hunch. "Und z'e Haus at Garry Lake."

Alfred glared something fierce up at the detaining albino, some sort of secret message that the Prussian caught loud and clear, sneering conceitedly.

"Yeah? Well do you know about the one in-"

"Amerika. Bruder. If you are done…"

The two in question continued to glare at each other, a silent truce passed along.

Gilbert's arm was still flung over the American, but he had released so of the pressure, allowing him to stand upright. It would have been a conciliating gesture, if not for the tight bunching of the plaid shirt where his fingers dug into the shoulder.

"Gilbert. Muss ich Sie an unserer Embassy zu verlassen?"

"…Nein."

* * *

Inside, the group mustered around, talking in whispers. Dean shouldered a black travel bag, hiding things that would have caused mass panic. Romano had the smaller version with less frightening contents.

America took the lead once more, walking to receptionist with his normal confidence. She seemed a bit wary, and no one could blame here. They housed a few high standing citizens, leaving them open for harassment from the growing mobs. Luckily, they had only receive phone calls and one drunken violator since this morning.

Smiling as she recognized the approaching man, she put on her work face, ready to be of service in _any way_.

Not saying she had a crush, but the young American wasn't exactly a write off in her book. After all, his brother had a permanent room here, due to his deep involvement in the government. Actually, she didn't mind the softer looking brother either. Either had money and looks. Personality wise, they were opposites, but neither was a turn off. If she could, she would try to catch one.

Or Both…both was good.

Snapping from her thoughts, she stared wide eyed at one half of her voyeuristic thoughts. "Mr. Jones. Good to see you here. Your brother said he to send you up as soon as you got here." Her voice was cheery as she searched for and handed off the spare card key to the room.

Alfred's smile became a bit more strained, almost faltering completely.

His brother was _here?_

He knew they were coming?

There weren't enough explicative in South Italy to explain his emotions right now. On one end, he wanted to rush upstairs and be the Hero, chasing away the literal demons that plagued him. On the other, they hadn't really expected Matthew to be here, since the demon had probably already guessed they had a strong backup now. The Winchesters had originally wanted to check out the room, trying to find some sort of clue for this strange possession. Perhaps, setting up a few safeguards in case the demon decided to return later on.

Alfred remembered how his brother looked last time he saw him, which also brought back the memory of him being attacked with murderous intent. It had been about two hundred years since he had to face that side of Canada.

And he didn't want to do it again.

Taking the card and quickly excusing himself, America skulked back to the group, key card nearly bending in his grip.

No one seemed to notice his change in demeanor as he returned, each in his own little word.

That is, until Arthur spoke up.

"Well?" The fact that Alfred had come back, rather than dashing off heroically towards the elevator was a red flag.

"I got it." His hands shoved into his jean pockets, taking the key with it. "Mattie told them I was coming."

Dean looked at his brother, a grin on his face. "Well ain't that just a slice of pie."

* * *

The elevator was set to move to the sixteenth floor.

In less than the time it took for two floors to pass, Sam had cut the wires to the security camera.

With that done, zippers were undone and they began passing out their equipment.

The Italians and France, who refused to be involved in harming Canada, each kept one of the containers of Holy water, Romano drilling into the Frenchman's head that it was for emergency use only. A small script of paper was rolled in the southern half-nation's hand.

The remainder of them each grabbed a shotgun and were given additional shells to stuff on their persons. Dean and Sam picked up the two they were comfortable with while Ludwig, Arthur, Alfred, and Gilbert all decided on the remaining four they had pillaged from the hidden 'Zombie Bunker' at America's cabin. Three of them were sawed off at different lengths, the shortest being in Prussia's hands as he wanted something closer to a pistol. Alfred's was the only whole one. He was wringing his hands around the barrel. It was loaded with salt, nothing that would kill him, but the mere thought of raising a gun to his brother brought back memories he would rather no revisit.

By the time they had finished dolling out like Christmas, they had reached the twelfth floor without being stopped. If the riots had any positive effect, it would be the lack of people wanting to go elsewhere. Dean nudged his sibling, trying to ask a question with his eyes. The space was too confined, so the movement had to be slight.

Sam didn't get the hint, much to Dean's irritation. Rolling his eyes, the man shuffled closer, drawing letters on the soft underside of his brother's arm.

_Knife_

The taller brother's expression lowered but nodded once. The object was tucked just under his shirt.

They had explained the abilities of the metal to the nations. As far as they had seen, it killed just about anything. Now, if a nation was included in that list, well, they hoped they could avoid that.

Honestly, Sam would have preferred to have used his own _abilities_ to do this, but after a heated argument with Dean, they both had realized this wasn't exactly a normal situation and they were unsure of the effects it would have.

Dean went back to staring at the numbers as they climbed, oblivious of the red and blue that glared at him.

As the metal doors opened, the four of them stood quite awkwardly, weapons tucked behind their backs. Once the coast was deemed clear, The Winchesters took lead, arms at the ready as the tip-toed down the hall. The rest followed carefully. All blondes were directly behind them, with two Germans following a ways back, keeping an eye on their flanks, the Italies keeping close to them.

"What room is it again?"

"Umm…Sixteen-eleven, dude. Should be fifth door on your right." Alfred's outside whisper made all of them cringe.

"He's a natural at this Sammy…"

Dean motioned for the American to open the door once it was reached, everyone having taken a steadying breath as when the green light flicked on with a light beep.

Sam turned the handle, thinking the tell-tell click was a bit too loud for his liking.

The entryway was a narrow hall, only a few feet long, with walls on either side, the bar stools for the kitchen island could be seen and a full view of what they suspected was the living room. From what they could see, nothing was out of order. Wasn't a _guy_ supposed to live here? A possessed guy. The lights were off, sunlight plenty bright to illuminated the area. The only thing missing was a possessed nation.

Looking at each other for a moment, the two shrugged. They hadn't exactly expected something from Wes Craven, but in their hard earned experience, demons usually liked to make a grand appearance.

Making their hearts lose a few years of life was an all-time favorite.

Thus finding the small apartment seemingly empty, was almost as disturbing as seeing it painted in everything down to the 'Hail Satan'.

There was one small thing though. It was faint and would have been skipped by most, but the sulfuric stench that mingled with the smell of pine and maple was exactly what they were looking for.

They took a tentative step forward, making their way to peak around the walls.

"Yo Mattie?!"

Oh. Right. America.

The large nation shouldered past those in front of him, bee-lining for the bedroom. The door was closed, causing his brain to come to the conclusion sibling was there.

The thoughts of every single person there was almost audible.

_Fucking dumbass_

Not to be outdone, Prussia followed suit, catching up to the spectacled nation just as he opened the door.

The sheets weren't even rumpled.

Alfred let out a frustrated sigh.

"Hey! I realize this might be a new concept for you, but this isn't the time to run off on you own." Dean's patience was teetering as the entire group was put in danger.

"He's right Alfred. You really should mind-"

"Oh for the love of…We need to find Mattie! This sneaking ar-" Alfred turned to face his tormentors, but stopped, swallowing as his face drained of all color.

Prussia could hear the choking sound he made as the air refused to circulate properly through his body, thus he too turned to face the same direction. His expression became a mimicry.

"Mes chéris?" Francis stepped forward, concern etched on his face.

"Good Afternoon, eh?"

* * *

Alfred stared at the man who shared his face.

The man was leaned against the balcony railing with his arms slung lazily over the bars. The patio door was purposefully left open.

It was him

But it wasn't

Not with that expression.

Not with those eyes.

"We'll isn't this just a merry little bunch. Would you like something? Tea? Coffee? I know this cute little restaur-"

"Adorable. Now why do you merry your little way back to hell?" A pair of barrels were focused directly on the Canadian.

"Dean…Now, that's not very nice. I'm going to have to ask you to behave or leave my _country_."

That seemed to shock a few of the nations out of their stupor.

"Mattie! Cumm'on man. Kick da't son-ofa-bitch outta ya' right now, ya hear?"

His twin seemed to find amusement in the change of enunciation. "Oh? Are we playing some kind of game now? I dunno if I can do Canadian…." He leaned forward, standing on his own, taking on a thoughtful look that slowly evolved into a bone chilling smirk. "Okay, I got it!"

Once again the expression changed, but this time the glint that had taken over those violets disappeared as his mouth fell. There was a sharp intake of breath that was distinct even to those on the other side of the room.

There was a moment of unchecked fear in his eyes.

Then they squeezed shut.

And he screamed.

The body slumped slightly, hands gripping his head, ripping at the soft hairs.

The group was shell shocked. Whatever trick this thing was pulling, none of them liked it.

"Al! Gil! Someone, please, make it stop!" Matthew pleaded as he hunched over, facing the ground, a bit unsteady on his feet.

"Oh, shit!" Dean was the first to rush forward, his brother hot on his heels. That voice contained a humane want, a need, mixed with terror, one that couldn't be copied by a demon's conscience. Whatever this sick game was, Matthew was the one in control now, and he wanted to take advantage of it.

Reaching out, he managed to grab ahold of an arm before things went quiet.

"Too slow." Dark eyes peered up from the slumped form, smirking as Dean took flight, smashing into his brother.

"-libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facia-" Romano's voice was low as he chanted in the background, trying to keep under the radar until he finished.

No such luck. Eyes were dead set on him.

Prussia jerked the butt of his gun to Alfred's side, waking up the startled American who may or may not have been enduring one of the greatest emotional traumas of his life. Both of them instinctually raised the barrel, but neither of them could pull the trigger.

The same was for the older nations. France had fallen into a state of psychological shock while Arthur murmured authentic curses through his teeth.

Feliciano had cowed back into a corner, hands muffling his ears, a silent prayer on his lips.

Germany seemed to be the only one of the countries able to walk forward threateningly, placing his body between the reciting Italian and God know what.

Yet whatever they expected, it never came.

"-Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae-" Lovino's voice became a bit louder as he glared, dreaded curiosity threaded through him.

Not even a wince.

Wait.

It wasn't a flinch, instead, Matthew's body moved, causing everyone to tense, reaching into his back pocket.

With the flick of a lighter, a puff of smoke rolled off his lips.

"You guys don't mind do you? Bad habit from the last body."

Arthur's parental instincts fell into high gear. "What the bloody hell do you think you are doing to my son's body?!"

"Huh? Oh right. This kid has an image. Look man, I hate to break it to ya, but your little boy ain't so innocent. I mean between the fact this kid can make some damn good brownies and taking Snow White over there to bed –Oi. You done talking yet? – Anyway. As I was saying, this kid is anything but…"

Arthur gasped, shooting a side glace to Gilbert, making a mental note for future conquests.

"…Gloria Patri…_Fuck_." The words fell off his lips like lead. He had recited the entire thing without some much as a second glance. Most of them were writhing by the second verse.

There was a childish giggle, one that made everyone and their father squirm as it came from one of the tallest men in the room. Baby faced or not, it was creepy.

Another plume of smoke went up before the stick was dropped, left to burn out on the cement. "Almost forgot. Mattie and I decided it was time to take the next step, you know, show how much we truly care for each other." A hand crept up his collar bone gently caressing until in violently ripped the neckline to show the skin over his heart.

There sat a black circle, stuck through with a single line.

"Till death do us part…"

Sam cringed at the sight. He knew all too well the power of a binding link.

Detangling himself from his disoriented brother, Sam scrambled to his feet, hands stealing behind him, looking for a certain piece of metal.

Unfortunately, it was time for a last ditch effort.

"What do you want anyway?" His voice was cautious as he slowly made his way into a better striking position, fingers closed over the handle behind him.

The Canadian's face seemed to brighten. "Well, I need a lot of things. Your blood for one, if you'd be so kind, and I'm sure that _delightful_ little Italian could chip in a few things...but you know…the usual… Death. Destruction. Glory to Hades."

Sam shuddered as he was included in the list, but he stood a little straighter as he settled his feet, ready to strike. The blade pulled and-

It met with resistance and a harsh wheeze. His eyes shot back, seeing a hand wrapped around the blade, blood dripping freely. The American who held it seemed to be in no small amount of pain, his skin sickly dulled from the sensation.

This was a man who had shards of metal protruding from his back and barely bat an eyelash. The Winchester's got their answers on the knife's capabilities.

"Can't…stab…Mattie."

"What a good brother he is." The nation cooed, casting a quick at the blade with a smirk "...Ah! Time's up. I have an appointment I just can't be late for. I'm sure my assistant will show you out. Bye now!"

Before Sam could turn back, the balcony was empty.

Alfred's body went limp, falling to the floor in a cold sweat, before being rushed by one of his parental figures, while the other quickly made his own way to the floor, unconscious.

"Assistant? Please let it be some hot secretary." Dean groaned, still trying to get his wits about him.

"I think he was trying to refer to me."

Dean's eyes shifted slightly to the left. He saw the leg of a pant and the trimmings of a tan coat.

_Jesus Christ…'s servant_

"You guys want a beer? I could use a beer."

* * *

**Oops...Let me explain to you a ****_thing_****..**  
**I wrote this on Wednesday. Somehow...it was deleted from my computer. Well hell...Re-write that night. Halfway through, system crash...Seriously? Finally got around to writing it AGAIN...but after the third time...well...I'm sorry if any of it seems rushed or...missing something. By the third time, I can't tell the difference between my thoughts and written work.**

**And yes...Alfred is reciting the Declaration of Independence.**

**Dummen Ficker. Das war vor zwei Jahren.[GER]| Dumb fuck. That was two years ago.**  
**Maple bastardo ha bisogno di imparare di architettura reale.[ITA]| Maple bastard needs to learn about real architecture. **  
**Gilbert. Muss ich Sie an unserer Embassy zu verlassen?[GER]| Gilbert. Do I need to leave you at our Embassy?**


	9. When We Wake

_"Al…Do I seriously have to do this?" There was a pitiful whine in the voice._

_"We lost the bet Mattie! Be a man and suck it up!"_

_"…How do you expect me to 'be a man' like….this?" The blonde shifted uncomfortably as he distastefully examined himself._

_"C'mon. Look! I'm doing it too!"_

_"Is that supposed to make it better or something?" Matthew mumbled just loud enough for his brother to hear._

_Alfred let off an indignant scoff. The ball was rolling and he'd be damned before he did this alone. Despite his attitude towards the whole affair, this royally sucked balls._

_By now, Matthew seemed ready to bolt, thus he quickly snatched up his hand and started towards the meeting hall._

_'Like ripping off a band-aid' he chanted inwardly. Best to get it over with quickly before your mind starts conjuring up ways to make it hurt worse. Not saying this wasn't going to hurt._

_Mentally._

_For a while._

_His brother tripped along behind him, trying to use some of that famous North American strength to pull free of his grasp. He was giving Al a hard time as he dug his heels worse that his old mule out in Texas._

_Five strides left._

_"Al…Alfred…Please!"_

_The begging route._

_"Nope!"_

_Four._

_"Alfred. F. Jones!"_

_"Uh uh.."_

_Demanding._

_Three_

_"Don't do this to me."_

_"Sorry."_

_Guilt tripping._

_Two_

_"Look..I'll buy you…"_

_Bribery._

_One_

_"…a year's supply-"_

_The attempt was cut off when Alfred pushed open the door with his free hand. The force caused it to slam back, gaining everyone's attention._

_"The heroine has arrived!"_

_"You are late Amer-"_

_Whomever was scolding them suddenly choked on air. No one else bothered to speak for fear of doing the same._

_Alfred dragged his brother up beside him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. "We're bringing out the big guns now, partner." He drawled, flashing a Hollywood smile._

_Glancing at Matthew, he could tell he was torn between standing his ground, banging his head against the wall, or initiating his flight instinct. Something akin to what a deer feels when staring at headlights._

_Only more Canadian._

_Did Canada have deer?_

_Maybe a moose instead._

_Matthew flinched as his brother nudged him, garnering the courage to say his line._

_"W-wanna mosey on over my way, eh?- Oh maple...seriously?!" The voice was a whisper, which crashed through the still silent room. He let his head loll to the side, resting in his palm in shame._

_It wasn't a surprise, seeing the source of their problems. The main one being those Daisy Dukes that 'saddled on up' just a little too high some places and shimmied just a little too low in others. Each of them wore a plaid shirt, Matthews red and white while Al's was blue and grey, which had been tied into tight bows across their sternums, exposing large tracts of land. Both of them were proud of the shapes they kept up, but this form of exhibitionism wasn't exactly their favorite way to show it._

_Matthew's hair had been separated in to low pigtails with red bow, courtesy of Seychelles. His feet were clad in high brown's that didn't deserve this humiliation._

_Alfred was forced into lipstick that had to of been _the_ primary red with simple black Justin's._

_No one dared move. That would make it too real._

_A sharp intake of breath._

_"Oh Gott! You guys really…did it?"_

_Gilbert and Antonio couldn't stand it anymore. They began making noises that didn't seem humanly possible one moment, the next falling over, unable to make any sounds as they shook and tried to gasp for air._

_Matthew's face turned red in anger and embarrassment. Alfred flinched from the glare he was getting from England._

_It looked like the British was about to voice his complaints before the entire room erupted. Pictures were being taken, questions asked, threats made._

_Alfred stood proud while Matthew slunk over to his seat, finding his time best spent using his face to check the resistance of the table._

_Yup. Good quality table._

_The flash of a camera caused the American to close his eyes quickly._

_The A.C must have shut off suddenly. He could feel the heat against his skin, so familiar, disgustingly so. It wasn't the warmth of a cozy home or fires during a camping trip. This was raw and destructive. Uncontained fury that could put a town to ashes in less than a day. One that could burn the very heart of that you held dear._

_As he opened his eyes again, he could only stare down the barrel of an old rifle. The gun was pointed and finger at the ready._

_Only he wasn't on the receiving end._

_"Mattie…Come on now. Time to give up." His voice rang out without his consent. The night was now a sickly mix of oranges and yellows glowing against a darkened sky. All around them the fires bathed, baptized, their little world._

_The other looked at him coldly. He was nothing but a boy in comparison, maybe thirteen or fourteen in appearance. His growth had been repressed of late, not that America could say he was free from any of that blame._

_"I can't. Now _please_ get off my land, America. You've done enough." It was cold diplomacy, but there was a moment, just a second, when Alfred could see his brother, the one he used to be. The one who avoided arguing and liked to read to him in front of the hearth. The one who put up with him. The one who would let him have the extra pillow at night. The one who wasn't in pain. The one who wasn't begging to wake up from this hell._

_But in reality, they were both still his brother._

_He burns._

_He had smiled_

_He scars._

_He had laughed_

_He fears._

_Alfred could see what this was doing to Matthew. He wasn't made for war. No. No one should be made for war. It was more like he wasn't ready. Not for something of this scale. The whole ordeal was tearing him apart from the inside. Changing him. Turning him into something that he shouldn't have been. Not now. America knew he had a hand in it, whether he wanted to do this or not._

_He swallowed. It wasn't fair, making his brother _need _to hate him but _want _to love at the same time. Canada and Matthew. Both at odds with each other in the same body. Pushing and pulling to one extreme or another. Somehow. Through even this, he stilled loved, trying to forgive._

_It was too late. The trumpets blared and the soldiers marched. There was no fixing this._

_Looking into those violet eyes one last time, he steeled his resolve. Matthew had a _need_ to be fulfilled and Alfred…no America would be the one to crush those _wants_. Otherwise, the boy would drive himself insane. Canada had to finish this without the distraction of Matthew._

_Somehow, he would just have to bring him back when this was over._

_Somehow, they would be Alfred and Matthew again._

_Somehow…_

_"I can't….orders." Cold. Indifferent. America. Just a swift movement of a finger. Only the seizure of his heart could betray his emotions._

_Blues fought the urge to flinch, breath hitching in his throat as it felt as though he was the one crumpled on the ground._

Alfred sat up quickly, hand grasping at his shirt, scratching at the skin near his ribs. Blue eyes were wide as he scanned his surroundings. A mental checklist. Mattie's apartment, the one in Ottawa. Sprawled out on the couch with legs tangled in a blanket. Stinging pain in his hand. Head rebelling like a bar-fight on whiskey night. Mumbling Prussian having a mental breakdown in the rocker.

No cause for panic.

Rubbing a hand over his face to shake off the shock of sleep, he frowned at the white bandages that were wrapped around it. How long was he out for? Why was his hand injured? Did he get drunk in Ottawa after the meeting? Fall down? Pick a fight? Attempt to tame local wildlife? _Again._Thinking about it was not an option. His half-hearted tries left him with his head swimming.

"Bad dream?" Alfred jumped at the sudden sound.

Gilbert stared up at the American with glassy eyes, sclera's thoroughly reddened. A half crescent bruise was fading to a unhealthy yellow under his left eye, marring his normally pasty skin. The normal smirk was plastered on more so out of habit than anything else.

America chose to ignore it the look. His mind was muddled and his tongue felt as if it were weighted with lead. He forced himself to lay back down as his vision began to tilt awkwardly. The Prussian was most likely suffering from the same ailment.

"Umm…That bet we made a few years back… about your brother and Italy."

The Prussian didn't believe it, but he humored him by pausing a moment, scrunching his face in thought, before bursting out into a harsh cackle, earning a lazy one fingered 'salute' from the other nation.

"I can't believe you guys actually …took z'hat z'eriously. I still have some awesome pictures from Ungarn und Japan." He wheezed. He had never thought the two would be stupid enough to bet _against_ him. It wasn't like it was some big secret. The North American twins just seemed out of the European loop. Still, he was glad they took the bet. _Though I had a 'dry spell' for almost three months after that. Damn! Birdie was pissed….worth it though._

Alfred winced. "If it's from them…."

"Totally _awesome _angles." The albino proudly finished for him, watching the blonde fall into a state of mental anguish, head tilted into his uninjured hand.

"I'll _pay _you to burn them- what happened to your…" Alfred gestured towards his own eye.

"Schneewittchen found out what happens vhen z'e evil Stiefmutter learns he's been Ficken her son." Alfred's eye twitched a moment before the two of them wore matching smirks.

So Arthur finally found out? Guess they finally got the guts to tell him. Was that why they went drinking?

Alfred remembered when he first learned his brother wasn't going home to just dinner and bed.

And they thought Italians could retreat fast?

They had nothing on bare ass Prussians when being chased across a National Park…in the dead of winter.

Albino man had some moves.

America chuckled darkly at the memory, but it was cut off by a bitter taste in his mouth. He _had _forgotten something. His mind cleared up a bit, various memories scrambling for attention. It wasn't some drunken stupor he was experiencing. _How could I have-_

"Shit! Matt! Where-"He made to jump off the couch, but Gilbert was just as quick, anticipating the action, pressing roughly against him and ordering him to stay down.

"Dude! Let me go! –Whoa... Shit." He tried to fight back, only able to swat against the hands, only to have a wave of nausea toss him back against the pillows, deep breaths coming in to keep his stomach in check. A painful whine coupled with the lost puppy look he now sported earned him a superior look from his friend.

"Stay d'ere until un Vater comes back." Prussia could only pray the man would listen to him. This wasn't really his area of expertise. England was much better suited to taking care of rampaging Americans.

_Comes back? _"Where…?" He asked, his brain catching up with the fact that the apartment was, by all appearances, empty.

Gilbert paused, unsure if he should really continue. He wasn't sure he could stop Alfred from going on a Canadian hunt if he seriously tried to escape. Hell, he was having enough trouble keeping himself in the room.

An aggregate shout and the muffled sound of glass shattering in the distance decided for him.

"Zhey're at it again. Vorse z'is time. Ve decided Italien und Frankreich vere better off going back to your Haus, zo zhey vent to escort z'hem outta town."

"They just left?" _Willingly?_ There was a hurt expression from the thought. Francis was just as much Matthew's father as Arthur. Could he just abandon ship so easily? Things got a little choppy so he took to hiding?

Prussia seemed to catch that _something _was up. He didn't try to read too far into it. He himself was far too exhausted and didn't currently have the mental capacity for dealing with Alfred's distress. He liked the kid. He really did. They had connected all those years ago when the blonde was a colony when he helped the brat fix that nasty shot of his. They did more so after a _discussion_ on Canada's international _affairs_ that just so happened to take place in the middle of Banff National. Manly male bonding at its finest. Did he mention he like the kid? Sorta.

Still, he had enough emotional baggage dragging along and he couldn't afford more.

And consoling wasn't really his thing. Was that even a_ thing_ people had? Maybe to the clinically insane or masochistic.

"Ja. Ve told z'hem to. Italien vas in no shape for d'is un Francis vas pass't out like un sissy boy."

America seemed to mull this new information over, chewing on the words for a moment. Overheating occurred and he simply slapped his palms against his face, groaning into hands. Thinking hurt. If Gilbert said they had good reason, he couldn't do much other than accept it for now. His body wasn't totally listening right now anyway and his brain was still trying to recover fuzzy sections of his memory…and failing.

The lack of enthusiastic energy was a bit discerning, but he couldn't blame the kid. They were all tired.

"How long was I out for?" Blues peeked blurrily through his fingers.

Gilbert jerked his head towards the clock and squinted. "Eins…zwei…drei…vi-Almost four hours."

He moaned again, letting it evolve into a low roar, before rolling onto his side, facing the back of the couch and drawing his body close, palms beginning to dig into the sensitive skin covering his eyes. The past twenty-four were catching up again.

"Maaaaan… I'm fucking hungry now."

"Oh? Does Österreich know?" The albino grinned into the air.

There was a pause as some rusty linguistic gears turned in the blonde's head. The man had spoken of the 'Prinzessin' enough that the word was fairly recognizable.

"Dude…that joke died before _you_ did."

* * *

Arthur's eye twitched as he examined the two sitting in front of him. After having walked in on a compromising situation, he had set them on the couch opposite of him, leading to the now well executed stare-down.

"Now. Who would like to explain what the bloody hell posse-you think you were doing behind Matthew's back?" Arthur kept his voice even, stumbling only as he realized his poor choice of words, quickly correcting himself.

"Wait? You think-"

"Scheiße. Wir nicht-"

The two spoke up at the same time, stopping only to sneer at one another from across the sofa, still sore about the wrestling match that had gotten them into this situation.

England continued to stare at them, his brow arched on his otherwise expressionless face. He was in his right mind to 'think', was he not? He was completely riled with every nerve harshly frayed. Currently he was taking care of three countries. Three! His phone had recently started ringing incessantly, leaving him no choice but to turn the blasted thing off for a bit. Not only did he have his and Canada's government looking for answers, but America was now experiencing a harsh downturn in addition to the seven point shake that had rocked both Oklahoma and Arkansas. Alfred had been out when his boss had called, so it was his self-appointed duty to take charge.

Then he was blessed with the sight he had returned to. His son pressing his other son's…special friend into the floor. The two of them had been pressed together in what could have only of been blatant indecency. He had only just learnt of the relationship and now he was discovering there was infidelity laced behind it. For shame! This would not do. Not at all.

Not in his house.

Metaphorically.

He sighed, holding up a hand for silence. "No. No. Forget I asked. In fact, I will drop this whole bloody mess and let Matthew deal with it. It's not my place to council." _But I will make sure you confess._ The unspoken addition evident on his face. Oh he wanted to yell and scream at the lot of them. This entire thing had a worse plot than one of Spain's dramas. Those who hid the original relationship. Those who were ruining it, while, if he might add, the faithful partner was in an atrocious situation. However, he wouldn't. Experience told him that he would be ignored for the most part, brushed off. His anger, though he would deny it, was too commonplace to be effective against them. Besides, Lord knew that the quieter twin would be able to do more damage than he ever could.

Seemed the two in front of him knew it too. If their faces were anything to go by.

"But we-"

"No Alfred."

"Dude! We were just-"

"Ah! Ah. Come now. We have more important things to worry about than your lack of morals." The Brit ended the discussion with a disappointed look and a wave of his hand, standing to make for the kitchen where the others were regrouping. His mind set on speaking to their new 'friend' who had a habit of_ disappearing_.

Alfred sputtered in an eloquent fashion, eyes darting between the retreating back and the sniggering albino beside him.

"But…We….Um….Gyah!"

* * *

Dean had finally managed to procure a beer through his own means. The fact that it was a Molson and there was an empty spot in the fridge held no connection at all.

"So…" He pursed his lips as he looked around the room. "Any bright ideas?"

Their eyes all shifted, a few glances cast to the figure who stood solemnly in the corner. His presence was an enigma to many. After all, it wasn't often that you met someone whose answer for his origins was 'I am an angel of the Lord'. Either he was bat-shit crazy or telling the truth. Which of course, lead to far too many questions pertaining his involvement. Shouldn't the Almighty be able to smite whatever ails his followers? Last time they checked, there were still believers of the Word in Canada, despite Westboro's objections. Okay, so maybe the big guy had a full plate and all, but this was a _country _literally going to hell.

Then again, if the boys were telling the truth, they hadn't gotten much help when the gates to the Pit threatened to open before.

"I thought you were the genius here, bastardo." The Italian didn't have much force in his insults. His head was planted on the edge of the table while his arms hung loosely at his sides. They were back to square one. Last time they had been here, he spent an entire night trapped with these people in that hamburger bastard's house and half a day dealing with their screwing around. He wasn't looking forward to round two, especially after they had been so close. If only…

"Oi! Americano!" His head shot up and the words fell with a full serving of distaste. "Next time, could you not, you know, fuck up? I know it's a hard term for you to understand, but-"

The said nation only looked at him with confusion. "Who pissed in your pasta?"

The auburn haired nation grit his teeth. "You know damn well what I'm talking about!" He gestured towards the white bandages.

Alfred stood, taking a few steps closer towards the group, inspecting the dressing along the way, before looking up with a lost look. "Oh yea." The Italian smirked as his verbal victory commenced. "How did I get this anyway?"

Silence became vogue.

"That's not funny Alfred." Britain's eyes betrayed his thoughts. America was a joker, but he could rarely hold a serious expression long enough to follow through. The mere fact that he looked completely and utterly confused was not comforting.

"I know." He paused. "Let's see…I remember seeing Matt. A cigarette…or was it a join-I mean…yea. Then something about needing something or one…words an' d'ey keep jus' an-" His body convulsed slightly as his psyche attempted to draw in the missing blanks. Apparently is was unhappy about being rushed.

Arthur needed no further prompting, he quickly moved to steady the American, relieved when he saw he wasn't the only one who noticed. Germany was soon on the other side, able to hold more weight than the smaller nation, who nodded his thanks. Together they moved to deposit the still mumbling blonde back onto the couch, upsetting the ex-nation who was still there.

"Artiiiee. It hurt' ta think." The American howled, trying to beach himself across the love seat.

Habitually, he rolled his eyes, though it didn't fit the situation. "Yes yes. Here now. Let me have a look at you." He motioned for the American to cooperate, finding no such luck and had to request Ludwig's assistance in keeping the nation upright. His hand darted to his former charge's head, feeling only thing slightest twinge of fever and determining it to be insignificant, inconspicuously letting his skin brush the rim of the now correct pair of glasses. His eyes were a bit unfocused, but all and all, nothing seemed terribly wrong. Except for the fact that he kept wincing when his hand was touched. This unsettled the Englishman as he had only wrapped it to keep the blood off the upholstery until it healed.

Unwrapping the bandages, the nearby nations set their mouths into a thin line. The pull of the fabric distressed whatever healing might have been set, causing fresh blood to ooze freely. Such a small cut should have healed within ten minutes or so, much less four hours.

"Bollocks…" It was a whisper and the two Germans could only nod in agreement.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, reading the tension radiating from that side of the room.

Arthur leaned back a bit, pulling the hand with him to turn the palm in the direction of the rest of the group.

"I suppose we know what that blade of yours can do now."

The two humans glanced at one another before turning to the elephant in the room.

"Cas…Why were you with that demon?"

"My orders were to watch him. It was God's Will that created the opportunity of work."

"Did he tell you anything while watching him?" Sam seemed cautious when asking the question, as though talking to an animal ready to bolt.

"He spoke of many things. Did you know that geese have their own language?"

"No. Fascinating." He replied, trying to seem interested, turning to his brother with a silent plea to take over.

"What about the whole 'destroy the world' thing or how this happened. Maybe something about that?"

Cas took a moment, his expression not betraying whatever he was thinking of.

"The demon was invited." There was a choking sound from more than one person. "A man by the name of Carter." The boys looked around at this piece of information, trying to see if anyone had a clue to go with it.

"Carter? I don't know a-"

"D'ats Ja'ob." America slurred, trying to swat away the hands that held him. "One-a Matt's Cong'essmen." A string of 'I'm fine now' and 'Stupid limey' floated after, ignored by all.

Arthur's brow knitted as he translated the man portion of the drunken stupor. Matthew didn't have a Congress. He had….

_Oh For Fucks Sake._

"A _high_ government official." He supplied, cradling his head in his hands, avoiding describing the intricacies of Parliament.

"So… one of the kid's cronies made a deal? Why is he the one with the baddie in him?"

"I believe he said it was because he offered the country's body in exchange…" Castiel supplied when Dean gave him a questioning glance.

"…Thus being Matthew since he's Canada." Sam finished. This didn't sit well with any nation, half nation, or ex, as it implied someone high enough to know exactly what they were. With enough control to be able to back up such an offer. Someone who felt, as countries, they were less than people who could be bartered.

"In exchange for what?" The older brother prodded again while Arthur attempted to get more information from Alfred, with little result.

"I do not know this." Though there was little doubt in anyone's mind. Human greed did not respect international boundaries. A few citizens lost for a new governmental order was a price history had paid many times over. All of them knew this, some more so than others.

Dean took a deep swig before asking the next question, positive he would need something stronger after it was answered.

"And why the hell didn't you take care of it yourself?"

"I have yet to receive the orders to do so." Dean grinned half-heartedly, taking down half the bottle in his next motion. It was expected, but not welcome.

The nations however, were not used to the eccentric messenger and each of their faces twitched with something heretical.

"You…let the bloody wanker escape because…it wasn't _ordered_?" The ex-empire voice roared.

There was a look of confusion on the brunette's face. "Yes, but I don't understand. He was not bleeding when I last saw him."

Ludwig saw the man snap before it registered in the Englishman's mind. Letting the American slump back, he quickly grabbed the smaller blonde's shoulders, using his body to block his vision.

"Now Britannien. Ve must keep out vit's about us. Zhis is not zhe time-"

"This **is** the God forsaken time! That-"He began thrashing to punctuate his words, inevitably knocking down one of the German's, though not the one he had wanted.

Dean finished off his beer as the shouting continued behind him. Getting up, he tossed a look at Castiel that screamed '_Bravo_'.

"Anyone else need a beer?"

A pigment-less hand shot up from the floor.

America finally slumped over, succumbing to a new bout of exhaustion.

Romano simply slammed his head back onto the table, finding the most colorful ways to insult the Pomeranian of everyone's grandmother's sister's cousin.

* * *

"So this is all we have to work with." Sam motioned towards the address on the screen. It had been supplied by a certain seraph before he whisked away, stating his time was demanded elsewhere.

The heavenly decree apparently held greater precedence that the current situation. Though it was probably for the best as at least one of them was pondering the ways to kill one of God's messengers.

Said person was currently out right now, having taken to the hallways to take care of some missed calls. These had required him to take steadying breath and regain his composure so he could. It was helpful that the source of his current frustrations had taken off.

"The bastardo knows where we are. He could come attack at any time. He's just fucking around right now. The problem isn't where he is but what the fuck we do when he shows up? Shit-for-brains here won't let us** _do our job_**." He accented his words with a pointed glare at the blonde draped over in the kitchen chair.

"Our job is to _save_ him…not stab him." He groaned out. His recent nap had only been about thirty minutes, leaving his head fuzzy and his mouth feeling like cotton.

Sam attempted to mediate. "Look, we don't want to do this either, but with the way things are- He can't die remember?"

Alfred rolled his head forward, body following, putting as much force as he could into his expression.

"I'm _not_ taking that chance." He hissed, quickly snapping his _still_ healing palm up on the table. "This isn't supposed to happen either, but it did. I don't even want to think of what would have happened if you-"The nation stopped, letting a shuttered breath fall through clenched teeth as he allowed himself to fall back against the chair.

Prussia knew where the man was coming from, but he also knew from his own experience that they couldn't just pray the evil away. Didn't work like that. Thus, he had a decision to make and Fritz help him it wasn't one he was going to enjoy, tangibly or emotionally. Downing the last drops of his liquid courage, he stepped up beside the slumped blonde, resting his arm in his golden hair.

"Look hier loser. Try to get z'at mind to vrap around mein awesome vords." He paused, letting a smirk grow where it didn't belong while he leaned heavily onto the other's head. "If ve don't do some'sing, z'en ve are royally gefickt! Ve don't vanna kill 'em. Ve von't. He's stronger z'han z'hat und you know it." There was a short intake of breath before he pressed on. "After all, you've _shot _him und he's still-"

Oh yeah…there was that physical pain he was looking forward to. Not his fault the kid had been sleep talking.

Leave it to an American to be dying one moment and able to 'Southern Justice' your ass the next. The albino grunted as his back hit the wall, red eyes taunting the manic blues that leveled with his.

"I dare you to say that again, fucking _kraut_." The voice was a low growl, conjured from the deepest parts of the body.

"I told you-"

"Bruder. Z'hat is enough!" Germany felt the need to butt in as he knew his bruder _would_ repeat the sentence. He had no patience for body disposal today.

Dean was looking irritably amused by the whole situation while Sam tried to think of a solution.

The thought occurred to him as he remembered the injuries Alfred had received the day prior.

"What if we don't use the knife? He'll heal just fine? Right?" He quipped, testing the waters a bit.

Alfred glared daggers over his shoulder, but it was Romano who spoke up. "And what good will that do? Demons are killed by normal means, moron." His eyes flicked to the side, hearing the soft click of the door, but quickly returned to the table.

Sam twitched, trying keep his serenity. "Well…maybe we can damage the link. That's how I got out."

Romano looked ready to toss back some sort of scathing retort but opted against it. Instead, he swung his head back towards the albino. Their eyes met for a moment, trying to pass along a wordless message. Gilbert just shrugged before turning his attentions back to the beast in front of him.

"Whatever we decide, _gentlemen,_ we need to do it fast. Harper has had two attempts on his life now. Losing him would be devastating to Matthew's health." Arthur added, shoving the cellular device into his back pocket. He really hoped to avoid any more calls like that for a while.

"Vell?" Gilbert asked with a much too happy sound. He could feel the American shaking through the offending limb around his collar. He could have pushed him off, but that would have defeated the purpose. He needed to get the kid to agree unconditionally, lest that have a repeat of earlier that day.

After a tense moment in which Arthur felt the urge to pry the two apart himself, Alfred relented. Grabbing his hair with a small defeated sigh, he glared at the albino, only half of the intensity was left. In less time than it took to garner, all hate was gone, replaced by a pleading look as his arms dropped.

Prussia read the message loud and clear as he clasp the blonde on the shoulder, leaving him to stare at the abandoned wall.

Leaning over, palms flat on the table, he glanced at every attending member, a strange spark in his eyes.

"Gut! Now…I may have a plan."

* * *

**So I finally got about three hours of freedom...so I typed this up. **  
**Meh...**

**I thought about using the recent events in America as results of his injury, but I felt it would be monopolizing...(not that I feel that way about other fic writers, just the way I was going to write it.)**

**Erm...Here's the notes and translations.**

**The second dream would be the burning of York.**  
**Banff National Park is a real park in Alberta.**  
**Yes...I put a hungry/Hungary joke...sue me.**  
**Westboro Baptist Church was banned entry into Canada in 2008. **  
**No, my fellow Americans, Canada does not have a congress per say.**

**Ungarn[GER]| Hungary**  
**Schneewittchen[GER]| Snow White (the story originated there...Despite what Korea says)**  
**Stiefmutter[GER]| Stepmother**  
**Ficken[GER]| Fucking**  
**Vater[GER]| Father**  
**Eins…zwei…drei…vi[GER]| One...Two...Three..Fo**  
**Österreich[GER]| Austria**  
**Scheiße. Wir nicht[GER]| Shit. We didn't-**  
**Gefickt[GER]| Fucked**  
**Gut[GER]| Good**  
**...I need to just learn German... -.-**


End file.
